


Through the Mirror

by dvs



Series: The Unwinding of Loki [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe, Oh steeb, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 88,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dark magic. It leaves a mark. It becomes a part of you, takes refuge inside you. It may never control you, but it will return to you in dreams and visions.</i> - The Unwinding of Loki</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> To alby_mangroves for reminding me how much I loved writing _Unwinding_ to begin with.
> 
> It's a sequel to [The Unwinding of Loki](http://archiveofourown.org/works/895759), so it may make little sense without reading the first one.
> 
> Comments include spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Exit light. Enter night._

Another night of terror-filled dreams, an assault of images from those places Loki now knew existed, but would never see. It had been months since Loki cast a spell at Thor's insistence, searching for one thing, finding another. Loki had seen not only the realities of another him, another Thor, another Asgard, but also dreams that were not his own. For the first time in his life, he'd seen Midgard, even though it was through the eyes of another. It had stolen his sleep from him, the knowledge that life could have been so different.

There were realities out there where Thor wasn't so angry at being joined to the Jotun foundling his parents had adopted for a while. Realities where Odin and Frigga still lived, still loved him. But in those same places, Loki was angry, hateful. He had felt the anger of his other selves, hatred towards his own kind, towards his Jotun father. So much anger and hatred. He had felt it towards Thor too, even if it was wrapped up in layers of love, need, and confusion.

Loki left his bed, wrapping himself up in his dressing gown. He walked over to his mirror and looked at his reflection, almost wishing he could see something other than himself. But that last spell had left him cautious, left him afraid of his own magic. It suited Thor fine; he had never trusted his consort's magical leanings, and having Loki afraid of magic suited the king fine. At least, Loki thought, he had found one way of making Thor happy.

His reflection looked exhausted, dark circles under tired eyes. His dark yellow hair hung in loose curls around his ears and he tried to smooth it down, imagining it as dark as a raven's wing, his skin a colder shade of pale. Even his voice, he'd heard it with a sharper edge, laced with menace. _Silvertongue_ , he had been called, not just in one reality, but in many. Loki, felt mute in comparison. The moment he had been bound to Thor as a consort, his tongue had been held.

Loki looked away from his reflection with irritation and decided to bathe and dress in preparation for a visit to Jotunheim. Things between Asgard and Jotunheim had never been easy, but once Thor had ascended to the throne with Loki as consort, Laufey seemed appeased enough to play the ally. Though Loki sometimes wished Laufey did more to play the father than the father-in-law. Especially with both Odin and Frigga gone.

When he emerged from his chamber, dressed in his usual gold and blue hues, it was to find Fandral, stern and without humour as usual. He nodded to Loki and said, “You've been summoned, Prince Loki.”

“Summoned,” Loki said. “No need to guess by whom. Can I ask where to and why?”

Fandral nodded, indicating that Loki should follow him. As they walked down the long hallway, Fandral said, “All-Father Thor has decided to accompany you to Jotunheim today.”

Loki stopped. “Why? What's wrong?”

Fandral arched a brow at Loki's stuck feet. “We're to wage war, it seems. Oh, don't worry. It's not with Jotunheim. Since you were able to locate the Tesseract the king has decided to bring it back from Midgard.”

Fandral walked on, leaving Loki standing there with his heart knocking inside his chest. Not Midgard, he thought. Not Midgard.

# ***

Loki might as well have not been in the chamber, the conversation being carried out exclusively between Thor and Laufey. Thor looked thunderous in temperament today, his dark hair thick and untamed, blue eyes looking icy, lined with black, black shawl wrapped around his broad shoulders. Loki couldn't help but stare at him, imagining the brightness of a red cape, a sunny demeanor. It felt wrong to want that, but even though he loved Thor dearly, a part of him did wish.

“Why?” Loki spoke up after a while. Thor stopped speaking, going still and angry, not turning towards Loki, just staring across at the table. Next to him, it was Laufey who tilted his head and frowned at Loki. “Why wage war on Midgard? Surely we're strong enough to take the Tesseract without expending the energy required by war.”

Thor turned his head to glare at Loki. “What do you propose? That we ask nicely?”

Loki prickled at the question, stiffening. “I propose we not underestimate the Midgardians. Go to war if you want. But don't expect that they won't fight back. Because they will.”

This cracked that impenetrable mask Thor always wore. The corner of his mouth lifted. He was looking at Loki, but it was to Laufey that he said, “Your son's tongue grows sharper by the day, Laufey.”

Laufey scowled in Thor's direction. “A mute consort is of no use, All-Father.”

Thor looked genuinely amused, snorting at that. Still looking at Loki, he said, “No. I suppose not. Even so, to war we will go.”

Loki got up from the table, striding out of the large chamber, Asgardian and Jotun eyes watching him as if he were no more than a petulant child to be humoured. He understood it well now, the anger of every Loki in every reality, this was why he burned at his core. They all thought him a child, or worse, a jest. He presented no threat, until he decided to become one. How easy that would be Loki thought, even for him, how easy that would be.

# ***

Thor didn't deem it necessary to make any amends straight away, turning up in Loki's chambers past midnight, eyes soft and skin flushed with wine. All the stiffness gone from his posture, he strode in and stopped in front of Loki, knocking the book from his hands and then stuck his knuckle under Loki's chin, tipping his head back, smiling down at Loki.

“Are you angry with me?” Thor asked, the wine in his blood loosening his tongue.

“I don't know,” Loki said. “Am I allowed to be?”

Thor grimaced, shaking his head and pulling his hand away. “Why do you paint me a villain, Loki?”

“Perhaps because you think me a fool,” Loki said, looking away from Thor to stare angrily at the fire. Thor growled with frustration, falling to his knees and thumping his head down into Loki's lap. Loki held tight to the arm rests.

Thor looked up at him, his hands covering Loki's, keeping them on the armrests and imprisoning him where he sat. “I could never think you a fool. You who has seen even further than Heimdall. You with your magic and your mind. I would be a fool to think you a fool.”

Loki stared at Thor, sensing more to those words than compliment. He quietly told Thor, “I would never use those things against you, Thor, you know that.”

Thor laughed, but Loki didn't miss the way he swallowed or looked away. He looked up at Loki and said, “We need Midgard. There is no way around it. Once we have taken the Tesseract, we take Midgard, and for that, there needs to be a war.”

Loki frowned. “Why? Why do we need Midgard?”

“Asgard is falling,” Thor said quietly. “Its foundations, even as we speak, are splintering. So, we are going to set it down on firm ground. It's why I need you. Your mind. Your magic. I will give you Midgard, and you will pull Asgard from the sky and place it on new ground.

Loki stared before trying to pull his hands away, only to have Thor tighten his grasp. “You want to save one realm at the expense of another.”

Thor seemed to sober slightly. He clamped his mouth shut for a moment, before responding. “What did you see in those visions that has made you love a realm more than Asgard? You cried for it once, remember? When the Jotuns pulled you away from it, your screams echoed in the halls for days.”

“Why does anyone have to die?” Loki asked, eyes burning at Thor's reminders of things best forgotten. “Why Midgard and not another realm?”

Thor nodded, smiling without any warmth. “Because you do not care for any other realm. That's why.”

Loki sat in stunned silence as Thor heavily got to his feet, turning and walking away. Loki stood up and watched, the words sinking in. Before he knew it, he was running after Thor, only for Thor to turn around and grab the fist aimed at him. Loki try to twist out of the grasp, but ended up with Thor's arms wrapped around him, Loki's wrists pinned against his own chest, Thor's solid body like a wall behind Loki.

“What did you see in those visions that would make you love that realm so?” Thor growled in Loki's ear as he struggled to pull away, only to be pulled back into a crushing embrace. “You are my consort, Loki, _mine_! And you will give your allegiance to this realm, to _me_.”

Loki stopped struggling, limply hang in Thor's hold. He closed his eyes, breathing hard, trying to push away images burnt into his mind. Thor was wrong, Loki had no love for Midgard. He had memories of want, a desire to rule that realm, and he had memories of wanting to escape, of finding refuge on Midgard. All these memories belonged to others wearing his face, but it was his heart that had trouble realising this. No matter what, the name Midgard made his heart ache.

“Why did you make me cast that spell?” Loki choked. “Why did I have to see?”

Thor was holding him close, his lips pressing warmly against Loki's temple as he whispered, “What? What did you see?”

Loki shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, making a noise of protest. Thor in a moment of mercy left the question unanswered, taking Loki to his bed and laying him down, covering him with his own body, kissing him and touching him until his mind untangled itself from the strings of other lives he hadn't lived.

When he awoke in the morning, still in Thor's possessive embrace, he knew he was not fated to be a saviour of Midgard.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor was right. Visions of other realms had poisoned Loki's mind. He felt anger that was not his own, yearned for faces he had never known and desired power he had never cared for. The taint of dark magic was like a weed; once grown it was hard to be rid of, springing up over and over in the same place. It didn't help that Thor again and again called upon Loki's memories of those visions, never quite allowing Loki to clear the waters of his mind.

Even now as Loki looked out of the window at the drab and destroyed city below, he saw other visions of this world, he saw himself in this tower, a weapon in his hand, a knife between Thor's ribs. He saw things he could never have imagined. Behind him, Thor sat on the throne in the refashioned chamber made to reflect the resplendence of Asgard, stripped clean of all Midgardian sensibility. Loki turned towards the murmuring between the king and his warriors, Fandral and Hogun looking focused, Volstagg appearing sour, and Sif delivering her briefing with a satisfied smile. Every now and then Thor looked right at her, a spark in his eyes, mouth teetering on the edge of a smile.

Loki bit the inside of his lip and turned away to the Midgardian projection on the wall, displaying a constant stream of news. It was showing carnage carried out by Jotuns and Asgardians alike. The man on the screen reporting the news then grew from serious to sombre, a blurred image appearing by his head of a cowled man with a shield, dressed in red, white and blue. Loki's eyes widened and he floated closer to the screen, in time to hear that Captain America had fought his last battle, falling in the defence of his realm.

The stab of grief was instant, whether Loki knew this man or not. His mind flipped through memories of visions as if he were looking through the pages of a book, until he was stuck on one page. His muscles felt rigid and his body filled with heat. He was looking up at a smudged face under the light of bright blue eyes, shining with sadness. It was snowing, but Loki felt as if he were on fire, and despite the pain, he was glad to lie in the arms of this man. It seemed like a good place to breathe his last breath.

“What's wrong with him?” someone was asking.

“The spell.” It was Thor's voice, pulling him back slowly. “He is still plagued by visions. Loki? _Loki._ ”

Loki blindly blinked up at a stormy sky that existed in another realm, his voice stuck in his throat. He felt a hand on his face, large and warm, familiar, and a dark shape seemed to form in the clouds, blue pinpricks turning to eyes, shadows of clouds turning into the planes of Thor's face. Loki mutely stared at him, clenching his jaw against rising nausea.

“Loki?” Thor asked softly. Loki nodded slowly and Thor sighed with relief. Lifting Loki from the ground, he told the others, “I will return shortly. Stay here.”

Moments later, Loki was lying down on a plush bed in a darkened room, Thor having stripped him of his coat and boots, loosening the ties of his tunic. He was seated on the edge of the bed, feeling Loki's forehead, frowning. “Your skin has never been so hot to the touch before.”

“Maybe you're just colder than usual,” Loki said slowly, pulling away. He started to sit up, only to be firmly held down with one hand on his shoulder. “I'm fine, Thor.”

“What did you see?” Thor asked. Loki grimaced, shaking his head. “Tell me.”

Loki swallowed, lying, “Avengers. I saw the Avengers. Not to mention this place. My bones have been aching since we stepped into Stark's tower. How long are we to stay here?”

“Until we have the Tesseract,” Thor said, idly covering Loki's hand, squeezing it. “Our Midgardian allies should hand it over soon enough, in exchange for a small prize of course.”

Loki tiredly looked down at Thor's hand covering his. “Why are you being so kind?”

Thor looked annoyed by the question, but didn't remove his hand. “I am partly to blame? I made you cast the spell that has left you plagued with things you were never meant to know. Father always said, dark magic leaves a mark, and I did not care to heed his words.”

“Yet you still want me to conjure Asgard onto Midgard,” Loki said. 

Thor swallowed. “What choice do I have? To let it fall?”

“Save the people. Realms can be rebuilt,” Loki said.

Thor stubbornly shook his head. “Not Asgard. It is all we have left of our fathers and forefathers.”

“Go back to your friends. You have a world to conquer.” Loki pulled his hand away. Thor watched him quietly, maybe sensing that Loki did not in truth want to be alone at all. After a while, he murmured, “I felt myself burn. He was there, one of the Avengers, Captain America.”

“Laufey's soldiers have put an end to his and Stark's heroics. You have the tower you saw in your visions, and you'll have the Tesseract soon. We will succeed where all our other selves failed, Loki. We will succeed even where our fathers failed,” Thor said.

Loki swallowed down the tightness in his throat. “You were one of them. Not just one reality, Thor, hundreds, thousands. More. Golden-haired, red cape, silver adornments. You fought alongside the people you're killing. They were your friends. Captain America was your ally.”

“And where were you?” Thor asked quietly. Loki's mouth snapped shut, heart tripping in his chest. He blinked mutely, mirror images flooding his mind with black-haired, with blue-tinged pale skin, faces contorted with anger and rage, and that one feeling that Loki knew well. A feeling of abandonment. Every Loki felt it, expected it, and raged against it. Raged at Odin, at Laufey, even at Thor who always followed, no matter how hard Loki pushed. Rage, even now, filled his mind with crashing black waves. “ _Loki._ ”

Loki tried to lurch away from Thor's arms which were tight around him, keeping him close as he growled in frustration. Loki gasped, “I can't make it stop.”

Thor held him closer still, leaving Loki breathless, his head hanging tiredly against Thor's shoulder. “When we have the Tesseract, you can make it stop. Until then, you must guide your thoughts away from what you've seen.”

But there was a beast, somewhere in those visions was a beast of his making, and its death had made him burn, made his flesh turn blue, and red, and black, and even now Loki was shaking, his body beyond pain, in a state of something worse, his hands grabbing at the arms around him, clinging to reality. He didn't know how long Thor had held him through another episode of his waking nightmares, but when he awoke, even though the windows were tinted, he could see night had fallen. He lay in bed for the longest time, blinking at the window, the weight of a light blanket making him feel crushed.

Grimacing, he angrily shoved the blanket away and rolled out of bed, lurching to the side when his body failed to find equilibrium. He slapped his hand against the wall, leaning there until body and mind synchronised, before smoothing his hair back and taking tentative steps towards the window. There were no mirrors here, in fact, there was a curious lack of reflective surfaces here and elsewhere. Except someone had forgotten how night made clear glass turn into mirrors, because Loki was getting a good look at his dishevelled self. He was beginning to look hollow-eyed, his hair lank and limp around his ears. Maybe they were seeping into him, the others, taking over, turning him inside out.

 _No_ , he thought, _I am Loki, they are the shadows._ Children feared shadows of the night, not Gods. Gods were to _be_ feared. But was that his own thought, or something left over? Whatever it was, it was strong, and it made Loki lose himself in his own reflection. He cast a glamour that changed his hair raven black, made the colour of his eyes sharpen until they resembled _him_ , the one who had burned. He let some of colour seep from his face, until he looked cold to the touch. Loki touched the face in the reflection; it wasn't so different, and yet completely alien.

“Loki, Thor-” Loki stiffened at Sif's voice, slowly turning to look at her. She looked unnerved rather than shocked. Loki waited for her to say more, but she remained quiet. It wasn't like her to ever keep her thoughts to herself; wasn't that what Thor loved about her the most?

Loki dropped the glamour, watching the tension leave Sif's body, enthralled by her response. “You bring news?”

“Our Midgardian _friends_ have arrived,” she said, arching her brow. “They are having their weapons removed from them as we speak.”

“How exactly did we manage to make these friends?” Loki asked, picking his coat up from a nearby chair and pulling it on. “I was under the assumption we're here purely for the pillaging.”

Sif made a face, as Loki sat down on the chair and began to pull on his boots. “They came forward and offered their allegiance. Cowards trying to save themselves.”

Loki looked up at her and smiled. “Cowards or survivors?”

Sif gave him a hard look. “I would choose death over dishonour.”

Loki rolled his eyes and stood up, smoothing down his clothes. “People die for made up things every day. Why not honour too?”

Loki stepped past Sif, only to have her grab him by his elbow and pull him back. “If honour means nothing, what difference is there between you and the cockroach?”

Loki nodded, thinking about all those other selves, grinning and spiralling out of control, fighting and raging. Surviving against all odds. He smiled at Sif and said, “None at all.”

Loki walked on, leaving Sif to consider his words, half-tempted to present himself before Thor in a darker guise, to see his face. Maybe reality would collapse in on itself. His mother had always said that realms were equal light and dark. Where there was dark, there had to be light, and the other way too. What would happen if Thor gazed upon his consort to find instead a shadow? Loki almost wanted to see the way the world might crumble.

He strode into the large round chamber, going directly to Thor's side, perching on the armrest of his throne. Thor scowled at him, before arching his brows in question. Loki sighed and placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. “Sleep does wonders, what can I say?”

Thor looked pleased, smiling and giving Loki's hand a squeeze. “Glad to hear it. Off the throne.”

Loki smirked and slipped off the throne, Thor taking his hand to place it on the arm rest instead, a much more appropriate show of support from a consort. Throughout the chamber, Asgardian soldiers kept their gazes away from the royal couple, Thor's warriors the only ones allowed to pass comment, but too distracted by projections flickering over a large black table. Loki watched as Sif walked into the chamber, her eyes on Loki. She walked up to the throne and took a place on the other side. Thor was looking at a pair of guards, signalling them to bring in their guests, oblivious to Loki and Sif locking gazes over him, exchanging silent words and warnings, not for the first time.

“What do you think, Lady Sif?” Loki asked quietly, as Fandral ran up the steps and had Thor distracted in conversation. “Do you think your king has found fertile ground here? Or do you think this is just another field for ploughing, before moving on?”

Sif smirked at him. “Another field it might be, but at least it's not as barren as others he's ploughed, Prince Loki. I'm sure that the ground here would bear fruit even if the seeds were planted accidentally.”

“We can actually hear you,” Fandral said, straightening up and looking irritated, whilst Thor sat back, amused. “If your intention was to bring someone's supper up, you've achieved that goal marvelously.”

“Come now, Fandral,” Thor said. “It's just banter between my consort and my commander. With you it's all doom and gloom. You need to laugh more.”

Fandral gave Thor a sour look and returned to his station as the doors slid open and soldiers ushered in a group of Midgardians in drab black and white attire. Except for one. One that made Loki take a step away from the throne. It was a man dressed entirely in black, his shoulders wide, his waist narrow. One arm appeared to be sheathed in metal armour, a red star painted up high. His hair was shorn close to his head, and caught the light making it golden. His face was obscured by a muzzle-like mask, his eyes too by goggles that gave him an odd mechanical appearance. He stood next to the man who appeared to be the leader of the group.

Loki looked across at Sif. “Are you sure _all_ their weapons were removed?”

Sif was nodding, looking in the direction of the masked man. She leaned down to whisper something in Thor's ear. He gave her a nod, before standing, beckoning the leader towards him. The soldier followed.

“Just you,” Thor said, eyeing the soldier. The man smiled a too friendly smile and held up a hand to his soldier, stopping him on the spot, offering him quiet placating words, speaking to him almost as if he were a child. Loki frowned at the exchange as Thor said, “Speak.”

The man put his hand to his chest and smiled. “I'm Alexander Pierce, and I, along with my associates, am here to offer my hand in friendship.”

“Friendship,” Thor said, sounding underwhelmed. “What use do I have of your friendship?”

Pierce didn't look ruffled by the question. “My friendship comes with thousands of people who been have waiting for this moment, a moment to finally bring in a new world order. They will follow me, and _I_ will follow you. You can enslave an entire world, but isn't it better to enslave those who would oppose you? To reward those who follow?”

“What manner of reward do you seek?” Loki asked. Pierce looked surprised, his gaze flicking from Thor to Loki. Thor nodded to Pierce, indicating he should answer. “A plot of land? Kingly powers? Weapons?”

“Nothing so grand,” Pierce told Loki. “I seek that you reward my people for their loyalty to you, by allowing them to carry on living their lives freely, albeit, as your ears, and eyes, and your hands, of course. Enslave an entire planet, and there will be rebellions. Elevate a few, and they will help you to tame the others. My gift to you, is my people, and I hope you'll accept.”

“Your people,” Thor said. “And who exactly are these people?"

Pierce smiled brightly, looking almost messianic. “We call ourselves, Hydra. And now, the friends of Asgard.”

 _Hydra_ , Loki thought, searching the crypts of his mind. But all the doors, he realised, had slammed shut the moment the soldier in black had walked in, carved into a shape Loki was certain he knew well.


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander Pierce became a regular visitor to the tower, bringing with him a wealth of information on every visit, but as yet, not the Tesseract. He always arrived with his man in black, a silent shadow at Pierce's side.

“You are staring again,” Hogun said, both of them looking over a balcony into the chamber where Thor and Sif were greeting Pierce, his soldier just to his right.

“What do you make of him?” Loki asked.

“A liar. He means to get what he can from us, no doubt plotting to then betray us. The king is already looking forward to throwing him into a dungeon,” Hogun said.

“Not the Midgardian. I mean his pet,” Loki said.

Hogun looked at the soldier where he stood almost statue till. Loki wondered exactly where his hidden eyes were pointed, what thoughts were running through his mind. Sif's expression indicated that maybe she was thinking the same.

“Dangerous,” Hogun said after a while. "A snake poised to strike.”

“The arm is mechanical, and not armoured,” Fandral said, appearing at Loki's other side. “We have ascertained that though he is carrying no weapons, he has a lump of quite sophisticated metal for an arm. Looks like these Midgardians aren't the monkeys we took them for.”

“A metal arm,” Hogun said, grimacing. “How?”

“It's been crudely fused to his skeleton. And it's not inert. It has functions. It's ticking away as we speak. Not only that, he's quite the specimen. _Strong,_ ” Fandral said. He turned to lean his back against the balcony, looking at Loki. “Thoughts, my prince?”

Loki smiled at Fandral. “I think he'd make a fitting servant for a king.”

Fandral cracked a smile at that too, nodding. “I think you're right. I'd certainly be happier if he was standing behind us, rather than with old Hydra face there.”

“Does he have a name?” Hogun asked.

“If he has, I haven't heard it yet.” Loki shook his head, stepping back so he could look at both Fandral and Hogun. “Give Pierce reason to stay with us for the night. Have someone watch his pet closely.”

“And you?” Fandral asked as Loki started to leave.

“I'm going to find out who he is,” Loki said, shrugging.

Both Hogun and Fandral stepped towards him at the same time, a hand held up by each, Hogun speaking first. “Unwise.”

“Terribly unwise,” Fandral said, “Especially if you're considering employing the use of magic. No offense, but you've been about as useful as a silk sheet on a cold night since the mirror spell. The last thing Thor needs is for you to turn into a drooling mess.”

Loki smiled sweetly. “Thor has admirers far and wide. I'm sure someone can offer him a naked shoulder to cry on should I do myself injury. Besides, this is a small spell. Nothing like the one your friend _made_ me perform.”

“Even so,” Hogun said. “You must be careful. Something went wrong with the mirror spell, and you are still paying for it.”

Loki sighed, turning around and calling over his shoulder. “If I end up incinerating my mind, just do what you did last time.”

“We called the Dwarves last time,” Fandral said, which stopped Loki in his tracks. The Dwarves. That unsettled something in his mind and his stomach. He turned to frown at Fandral who shrugged and said. “That's how bad you were. Laufey hadn't a clue what to do. It was one of Alflyse's smiths that got you back into the land of the living.”

Loki frowned, trying to think back, shaking his head. “I don't remember.”

“Well, like I said. That's how bad you were,” Fandral said, walking up to Loki. He patted Loki on arm and said, “All I'm saying, Princeling, is give yourself some time. You have a duty to your king. He needs you.”

Loki slowly nodded, aware that whether it was Asgard or Jotunheim, everything was bound up with that complicated ribbon of duty. He knew he couldn't let his curiosity turn him into a burden. The vultures did not stop circling kings with consorts. They simply waited for an opportunity to swoop. Lying on the couch in his chamber, tossing and catching a small cup, he thought back to the day Odin and Laufey cemented their alliance through Thor and Loki. He remembered the looks he had received, as if everyone was expecting him to turn blue and sprout horns the moment he and Thor joined hands. Or maybe they were waiting for Thor to push him away in disgust, hoping to take Loki's place.

That night, in their chamber, Thor had removed his cape and helmet, stomped around with a sore head, whilst Loki stood in the middle of the room, watching him quietly. Thor was nowhere near as drunk as an Asgardian groom ought to have been, and that in itself was telling. It put Loki into a foul temper too, so much so that he didn't think twice before grabbing Thor's wrist to help him take off his gauntlet, which he had stubbornly been trying to remove by himself. Loki took them off both wrists, one by one, and threw them aside. Thor arched a brow at him.

Loki snapped, “This is not my doing. I did not ask to be _shackled_ to you. If you are angry, go and be angry at Odin and Laufey. I have no wish to be here so I can be ridiculed and-”

Loki was cut off when Thor stepped forward and put his arms around Loki, pulling him close, burying his face in the crook of Loki's neck. He spoke quietly, as if fearing the walls might hear. “I have missed you. When Father sent you away to Jotunheim, I was...I didn't know what to do.”

Loki felt tears pricking his eyes as he shoved hard against Thor who refused to release him. “Let _go_.”

“No,” Thor said, kissing Loki's objecting mouth. “Not this time.”

Loki's hands braced against Thor's chest, intending to shove, gripped his tunic instead, pulling at him before he crushed his mouth against Thor's, passing on a broken sound that was trapped between them. Loki had been no more than a foundling playmate for Thor once, Odin couldn't be blamed for returning a Jotun prince to his own realm. But it had hurt all the same and Loki would never forget how he had been carried away by Laufey, screaming for Thor who never came. If Loki's kisses were laid with harsh bites, he had good reason, and Thor could take the pain with the pleasure. He did too. He didn't make a sound when Loki's fingers tightened in his hair and gripped tight and angry. They fell upon the couch, never making it to the bed, neither bothering with undressing, tearing at each other's clothes, wrestling each other into place.

“Forgive me,” Thor had panted into the damp hollow of Loki's throat afterwards.

“We were children.” Loki murmured breathlessly. “We had no say.”

Thor lifted his head and looked Loki in the eyes. “I wanted to come after you. You have to know that.”

Loki blinked up at Thor. His heart still thudded with an old anger, so maybe there was something that needed forgiveness. He nodded slowly. “I know.”

But that's the past, Loki thought, so much easier to forgive. The present had Thor being a kingly nuisance, calling on Loki to make magic and then bringing in the Svartálfar to fix whatever havoc that magic wreaked. They had coaxed him out of a stupor and he couldn't even remember it. _That_ , he thought as the little cup fell into his hand, was disconcerting. Frowning, Loki sat up, trying to cast his mind back. The memories were in fragments. The Dwarves, the damn meddling Dwarves.

Walking down the corridor to Thor's chamber, Loki decided whatever the Svartálfar had done to _help_ him would have to wait. For now, the task at hand was to pull puppet away from master, and see if Pierce would still be as amiable and confident without his soldier shadowing him like some...spectre, Loki thought, coming to a stop, frowning though his mind had gone blank. Spectre was perhaps not the right word for the soldier. Loki found his feet and moved forward, coming to a stop only when two of the guards posted outside Thor's chamber blocked his way.

“Sire,” one of the guards said, before trailing off and looking away. When Loki eyed the other guard, he too looked away, appearing ashamed.

Loki shoved past them, moving through the large spacious chamber, again made to look more like the rooms found in an Asgardian palace, than a concrete Midgardian tower. Loki came to a stop in the middle of the room on hearing the sounds drifting out from the inner chamber, sounds of pained pleasure, two voices gasping and moaning together. Loki walked on stiffly, coming to a stop at the drapes between the bedchamber and the outer chamber. Through the luxurious translucent drapery, he could make out two shapes twisted about each other. Loki clenched his jaw, bringing up his hand and using his finger to part the drapes a fraction. What he saw wasn't a surprise, not to him or any Asgardian. Sif was queen in all but name. For some bizarre reason, it never mattered, not until he laid eyes on them together, whether they were sharing a look, or whether, like now, they were crawling into each other's skins.

Loki swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, unable to watch them tearing into other wildly. Sif growled as Thor wrapped his thick arms around her waist and threw her onto her back before burying his head between her thighs. Sif let loose the moan of a wounded animal, throwing her head back and grabbing Thor by his hair, pulling him in closer. When it seemed she couldn't cry out louder, Thor moved up her body, putting himself between her legs and sliding into her without a hitch. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him down for a kiss, and he kept his mouth on her, thrusting in and out of her body, both of them moving against each other with perfect fluidity.

Loki pulled his hand back, allowing the drapes to fall, glaring at the blurred bodies for a moment before turning to leave. The guards were watching him with caution as he left, wisely not looking him in the eyes. He couldn't quite remember getting back to his chamber, he just found himself by the window and looking down at the city. He could make out the Jotun guards below, surrounding the tower, no more than dark shadows catching the light of the moon every now and then. Wasn't that also his role, protecting the Asgardian heir? The Jotuns below did it with their strength, and Loki with his magic. They all stood guard whilst Thor desperately tried to make his seed stick, Sif's assertions of fertility proving futile so far.

“Loki. Loki?” Loki hummed a response, not turning to look at Hogun. Hogun walked all the way in and stopped by Loki's side, peering out of the window. “The Midgardian wishes to speak with you.”

“Take him to the king. If he and Sif are done fucking,” Loki answered quietly.

Hogun didn't react, as usual, telling Loki, “He's asked for you. Someone has let slip that you have particular gifts. He thinks they may allow a more direct route to the Tesseract.”

Loki turned to smile at Hogun, feeling no humour, just irritation. “Does he now? Well, why didn't you say so? Bring him!”

Hogun turned to leave and then very slowly turned back to tell Loki, “He is of no use to us dead, nor are his followers.”

Loki offered Hogun a tight smile, holding up his hands. “I will not lay a finger on him. My word.”

Hogun walked off muttering under his breath about troublesome princes and stubborn kings, Loki letting the smile slip from his face, that slight shift in expression enough to make his muscles ache. Loki sunk into an armchair, placing his hands on the arm rests and waiting. They arrived moments later, Hogun at Pierce's side, the soldier following behind like a loyal dog. Loki arched a brow at Pierce and waited.

Pierce offered one of his customary overly familiar smiles. “Prince Loki. Thank you for seeing m-”

“My king,” Loki said curtly, “intends on disposing of you, the moment you outlive your usefulness.”

Pierce stared, but did not look shocked. “I was beginning to sense that.”

“Which is why you have decided to approach me, because you are also smart enough to sense that the king and consort are perhaps somewhat at odds,” Loki said. “Is it not?”

“I would be lying if I said I didn't have some concerns about the king's feelings towards me,” Pierce answered, sickeningly polite.

“He finds you loathsome. As do I,” Loki said. “However, currently, I find the king rather repellent, and am open to hear how it is you think _I_ can get to the Tesseract before my... _beloved_.”

“Well, the how is up to you,” Pierce said, still unruffled; how Loki wanted to ruffle those feathers. “I propose that I continue searching for the Tesseract, and once I have its location, I come to you. The Tesseract is an object of Asgardian magic. Who better to...liberate it from its hiding place than one who knows magic?”

Loki looked across at Hogun, the warrior looking non too pleased. Loki stood up, noticing the soldier's head turning a fraction, keeping Loki in his sights. Loki glared at Pierce. “You mean to say, you have no real information, just a change of tactics.”

Pierce was quiet, but his gaze remained confident. When he spoke, it was in his measured tone, fearless. “I can get you to the Tesseract, Prince Loki. Once you have it, I can get you the rest of this world. Hydra has the power to do that. But not if I'm dead.”

Loki stepped back, nodding. “I see. You will help me ascend to the throne, and in return, I will give you a throne of your own.”

Pierce shrugged. “Let's call it an honorary throne. You would still be king.”

“Because you would serve me,” Loki said. Pierce nodded, a little too nonchalant for Loki's liking. Loki nodded back. “Say it. Say that you serve me. Give me your word.”

“Of course,” Pierce said, and was that a flicker of panic in his eyes? “You have my word.”

“ _Say_ that you serve me,” Loki said, noting that Hogun was watching Loki with a certain amount of worry. “Tell me that you are my servant. Loyal only to me. Not Thor. _Me._ ”

Pierce seemed to stiffen, before telling Loki, “Yes, yes of course. I serve you, Prince Loki.”

“And those who serve you, serve Loki,” he said, pinning Pierce down with his gaze. “Not, Thor.”

“I think I made clear-” Loki let out an exasperated breath, almost a growl, turning away from Pierce. Pierce stumbled over his own words and said, “You have my loyalty, Prince Loki, and the loyalty of those who serve me.”

Loki whipped around and snapped, “ _Don't_ waste my time. I have no need of your loyalty. I want your obedience. Your _love._ Either you give me what I ask, or you leave here and I let Thor do what he wills. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Pierce was quiet. Loki could almost hear the bricks of his walls dropping one by one in the silence, before he finally said, “I serve you, and those who serve me, serve you.”

“Who is their master?” Loki whispered. “Yours, and theirs?”

“You,” Pierce said. “You are.”

“Do you understand?” Loki asked quietly. Pierce frowned at him, his frown easing when Loki slowly turned his gaze to the soldier. “Do you understand who your master is?”

“What are you-?” Pierce murmured, still frowning.

“Point,” Loki said softly. “Point to your master.”

It seemed an eternity before anything happened, time in which Pierce paled considerably. But the soldier was turning his head to look at Pierce, and for that moment the Midgardian seemed relieved. Until the soldier's hand came up to point at Loki, his head turning to look at his new master.

Loki smiled wide, some kind of cool balm spreading from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. “Very good.”

He turned on his heel and went to sit back down, still smiling. Pierce who now seemed red-faced, said, “We should probably get going. I've taken up enough of your time.”

“I'd have to agree,” Loki said, before nodding to the soldier and telling him, “ _Kill_ him.”

Pierce opened his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly match the panic in his wide eyes, but the soldier's hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat, shook him to the left once, and the audible snap told both Loki and Hogun that the Midgardian's neck had been snapped in two. The soldier opened his hand and Pierce fell to the ground in a dead heap.

“I am both thrilled and disturbed by how quickly you carried out that order,” Loki said, getting up to move to the soldier's side, peering down at the corpse.

Hogun gave Loki an incredibly impatient look. “He was our way to the Tesseract.”

“I'm sure he's not the only way. Have someone dispose of him, will you?” Loki nodded to the solider. “You come with me.”

“Where are you going?” Hogun asked, despite the fact Loki was clearly headed to his bedchamber.

“To play with my new toy, of course,” Loki answered, striding into his bedchamber and heavily falling into a chair by his bed. He leaned back and sighed, pointed at the soldier's face. “Take it off. I want to see what mangled monsters Hydra keeps for lackeys.”

“The king will not be happy!” Hogun shouted from outside.

“Good!” Loki shouted at the drapes between rooms, looking back in time to see both goggles and muzzle being pulled away. Loki froze, seeing the sharp blue gaze he knew from visions. And that mute mouth, he knew it held an even smile. _Steve_ , his mind supplied, _Steve Rogers._ But it made no sense. The man in his visions, he wore a cowl, carried a shield, and he was dead, killed by Jotun hands. Yet... here was.

Loki slowly stood up and murmured, “Do you believe in fate?”


	4. Chapter 4

Time seemed to slow down, the face of Steve Rogers spinning round and round in Loki's head. The man before him was blank, waiting for a command. He wasn't the man from Loki's visions. His face seemed more hollow and angular, his eyes an icy blue, and instead of a golden wave of hair there was a light coloured layer of regrowing hair on a haphazardly shaved head. There was a cut over his top lip, as if someone had struck him recently, a deep dark red. Loki looked down at his hands and pulled away the masks, the soldier silently watching him.

“I know you,” Loki said quietly, his ears picking up the sound of guards in the outer room, noisily taking away the body of Alexander Pierce. “I know your face. _Steve Rogers._ ”

Steve frowned at him, eyes flicking to the side for a moment, and then back to Loki, the man remaining mute. Loki eyed the metal arm, moving both of Steve's masks to one hand, Loki's free hand reaching to touch. The plates of Steve's metal arm shifted up, before rippling back down. Loki curled his fingers back, having seen the rattle of a snake.

“I suppose it's useless to tell you how I know your face,” Loki said, the words still trailing from his mouth when Steve roughly cut him off with, “No one knows my face.”

Loki swallowed, the tightening in his gut telling him that he knew the voice too. Warmth spread downwards and outwards from his lungs, comforting, even though the voice was a rasp from the soldier's mouth. “Why?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, snapping it shut after a moment. His eyes indicated that an answer had perhaps been within reach and then eluded him. He frowned at Loki, searching his face for an answer, as if Loki might tell him it. His quiet reply, when it came, was, “I don't remember.”

Loki looked at the arm, the muzzle and mask in his hand, thinking on the newly dead Alexander Pierce. After a moment of thought, he murmured, “Do you know how I would tame a good soldier? I would take away everything he knows and make myself the centre of his universe. I would make him give me his heart.”

Steve didn't react, vacantly staring at Loki, his eyes shining bright, his body tensed like an animal about to fight or flee.

“The man they call Captain America. Who was he?”

“He was my mission,” Steve answered. “But then you came.”

Loki smirked at him. “Does that make me your mission now?”

“My mission,” Steve said, “was to eliminate Captain America.”

Loki smiled with amusement. “Did he have a name? Other than Captain America?”

Steve had that look about him again, as if he expected to have an answer, but then found he didn't, looking slightly disturbed by the realisation. He swallowed, and Loki was sure he saw a flash of hot panic in the otherwise cold waters of his eyes.

“Loki!”

“Looks like the entertainment's arrived.” Both Loki and Steve turned towards Thor's voice. Loki threw Steve's mask and muzzle aside. Steve was looking at the muzzle, which Loki kicked aside before tipping his head towards the other room and walking on. "Come."

Thor storming into Loki's chambers was no new thing, certainly not on Asgard, sometimes not even on Jotunheim, which was why Loki walked out a picture of calm and respectability, whilst it seemed that Thor had dressed in a hurry, still damp from bathing, wearing only black breeches and boots, wet hair looking darker than its usual brown. With him was Fandral, looking annoyed and put upon.

Loki smiled at them both. “Problems?”

“You think yourself above me?” Thor growled at Loki. 

“Thor, please,” Fandral said, lowering his own tone in an attempt to calm Thor. 

Thor's gaze settled on Loki's new shadow. It seemed to anger him even more. He jabbed a finger in Steve's direction. “Explain this!”

“I am the Prince of Jotunheim and my father's armies are helping you enslave this realm as we speak,” Loki said quietly. “You will speak to me as your equal, or not at all.”

Thor stepped closer to Loki and the sound of Steve moving was unmistakable. Loki held up a hand to stop Steve in his tracks, telling him, “It's fine. I'm in no danger.”

“You act like a spoilt child, and you expect to be treated as an equal?” Thor said, casting Steve a look of contempt before glaring at Loki. “I am commanding you as your _king_ to explain your actions.”

“Well, my king,” Loki said with a smile, “I meant to present you with a gift. Unfortunately, when I went looking for you to discuss it, both your mouth and ears were unavailable. ”

The look in Thor's eyes turned snow cold. “Leave us.”

“Thor,” Fandral started, receiving a loud growl for his peacemaking efforts, one that made him jump back. He looked at Loki, sighing before he turned on his heel and left. 

Loki turned his head a fraction and told Steve, “Go keep Fandral company, will you?”

Steve seemed to take a moment before moving, looking between Loki and Thor. When he walked away, his eyes remained locked with Thor's, the king watching him until he was gone. Thor turned his head to look at Loki, Loki immediately took a step back, straightening to his full height, his chin lifting up defiantly.

“Explain yourself,” Thor said. “ _Now._ ”

“The Midgardian caught wind of your subtle intentions to be rid of him once he served his purpose,” Loki replied smoothly, “He came to me to make a pact, hoping that he might align himself with me.”

“And you killed him because?” Thor asked impatiently. 

“Because,” Loki said, chewing on the inside of his mouth, “I will not let you be betrayed by some pointless little Midgardian.”

Thor shook his head, as if battling against his own anger. “Loki.”

“What?” Loki asked. “You would have preferred for me to have betrayed you instead?”

Thor glanced at Loki, betrayal a touchy subject with Asgardian kings. “You should have come to me.”

“I did,” Loki said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. “You were busy.”

Thor's anger seemed to morph into something more regretful. He gave Loki a long searching look. “So you were angry.”

“About?” Loki pulled a face to show Thor how distasteful he found the notion. 

“Sif and I-”

“ _Don't..._ flatter yourself,” Loki said flatly. “Asgard needs an heir, something I cannot give you. I know this. I don't sit in a corner weeping when you perform other dubious kingly duties, why would this bother me?”

“If the condition of our union had denied me the right to a child of my own blood, it would bother me,” Thor said quietly. Loki had nothing to say to that. He had lost a lot in the alliance between Asgard and Jotunheim, but he still had his dignity. Thor sighed, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back. When he looked back in Loki's direction, he seemed calmer. “I sometimes wonder what it might be like. A child born of our blood.”

“Messy, I expect,” Loki commented. 

Thor's mouth twitched. “What do you think our son would look like?”

Loki arched a brow at Thor. “A daughter, one hopes.”

Thor showed a flash of teeth at that. “Do you think _she_ might be like you? Laufey said you have Asgardian blood on your mother's side.”

Thor had lifted his head in Loki's direction, indicating perhaps the lack of horns, markings, and blue. Loki shrugged. “Laufey also said you have oxen blood on your grandfather's side. You may not want to go by what he has to say.”

Thor smiled, looking away at the floor, incidentally the same spot where Pierce had fallen. Sounding somewhat reflective, Thor said, “I cannot choose, Loki. I will not part with either of you.”

“I didn't ask that you should,” Loki said, anger now abating too quickly, noting that Thor never brought up the fact that Sif had been his choice, whereas Loki had been Odin's command. Loki fell into his favoured armchair with a sigh. “It's not as if I didn't expect it. Jotun jests almost purely focus on the infidelity of Asgardian kings. You're no more than rutting swine to the Frost Giants.”

Thor aimed a very bland and unamused look at Loki, sitting down opposite him. Loki arched a brow at Thor. Thor explained, “There is the matter of the Tesseract, which the Midgardian was tasked to find.”

Loki shrugged. “Pierce didn't know its whereabouts. He was searching for it just like we are. He probably hoped we might make _his_ path to it clearer. Now _that's_ arrogance. It's almost a shame I had to kill him.”

“And the soldier? What do you intend to do with him?” 

“Find the Tesseract, of course,” Loki said, waving a glamour across himself, so he now appeared to look like Pierce. “Pierce's lackeys will expect to see his shadow man alongside him when I try to ascertain the extent of his findings, and as I have his allegiance, he will do exactly as I want.”

Thor's face took on an almost comically shocked look. He fell back in his armchair and just shook his head, smiling. “So now you have Hydra.”

“Precisely,” Loki said, dropping the glamour and peering at his pristine nails, before looking up at Thor. “Now imagine what I could do if I really _were_ angry.”

Thor's smile was placid, his gaze quiet and thoughtful. He got up, slowly walking over to Loki under a watchful eye. Loki didn't move as Thor leant over him to drop a kiss high on his cheek, an arrogant form of apology and gratitude rolled into one. Strands of his hair fell against Loki's cheek, cool and damp, still holding water. When Thor pulled away, it felt like one side of Loki's face was left branded by wet fingerprints.

“Was there anything else?” Loki asked quietly. 

A gentle frown burdened Thor's forehead. “The visions. Are you still seeing them?”

Loki looked towards the hallway outside his chamber, where the soldier was obediently waiting. His face had blown away the shattered pieces of Loki's mirror spell, creating a momentary stillness, a dark calm from which Loki could sift through still images of far away realities without being overwhelmed. Loki mutely shook his head.

“They've stopped?” Thor asked.

“Perhaps,” Loki said. “Doesn't matter. They have left their stain. What has been seen cannot be unseen.”

“You can share it,” Thor said. “You do not have to carry the burden alone.”

Loki let his mouth tilt up in amusement. “I think I've had my fill of sharing. Some things I would like to keep to myself. For instance, a vision of you with golden locks, and a flowing red cloak. That I'd _really_ like to keep to myself.”

“Thor,” Fandral said, striding in, shadowed by the soldier. Thor directed his confused look from Loki to Fandral. “News from Asgard. Time you two kiss and make up.”

“That must be from Heimdall,” Loki said, making Thor grin, Fandral looking completely unmoved. Loki waved a hand towards the door, telling Thor, “Go. Your people need you.”

“Does that not include you?” Thor teased.

“I am not your people,” Loki said, rising from his chair, “and I am seldom in need of anyone.”

Thor looked at Fandral, as if to show him the burden he carried. Fandral shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “Your marital woes are of no interest to me.”

Thor reached out and clapped a hand on Fandral's shoulder. “Come. I have people who need me.”

Loki rolled his eyes as Thor led Fandral away, eyeing the soldier on the way out. Left alone with the soldier, Loki sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, it was to find Steve watching him, something very childish about his expectant gaze.

“So,” Loki said, somewhat tiredly. “What do _you_ do for fun?”

Steve, it appeared, had no opinions on fun. Loki had pointed him towards a chair and told him to sit, and there he sat, ramrod straight, leaning slightly forward, looking ready, prepared, or in wait of something. His eyes followed Loki around the room, until Loki told him he was not on guard, after which Steve seemed to sink into himself, his gaze growing vacant.

“What do you do, when you think you memory has been tampered with? The Svartálfar, they don't get called in for nothing,” Loki thought out loud, though quietly. 

“You find out who. And why.” 

Loki stopped his pacing and turned to look at Steve, a scowl denting his features. The suggestion though quiet, seemed to be laced with an edge of anguish. “What if you know the who?”

Steve's eyes widened a fraction, his eyes sliding across the room, gliding over the thoughts in his own mind. His voice was a rasp when he asked, “Then why?”

Loki looked at that strong frame of Steve's, that determined set to his jaw, despite the sometimes lost look in his eyes. Loki nodded, wondering, “Why indeed.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was a quiet night in the tower. Loki spent it pacing and thinking, and the soldier spent it watching him, quiet and without complaint. When morning came, they were both sat in different armchairs, staring off into their own portions of space.

“Well, this is normal,” Sif said by way of greeting, watching them from the threshold of the chamber, looking both confused and fed up. Loki arched a brow at her, amazed that she still believed in normal. She nodded, arching a brow, her expression indicating that she had caught up with Loki's thoughts. “The Midgardian's people are here. Thor says you have a plan?”

Loki glanced at Steve who was sitting back and watching Sif, both intense and oddly casual. It suited him. “Indeed.”

“What do you hope to achieve?” Sif asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I hope to see exactly what this _Hydra_ have to offer. If they have something, then I may pet their numerous heads and use them to our advantage,” Loki answered.

“And if not?” Sif asked.

“Well, off with their little skulls then,” Loki said, getting to his feet and smoothing down his coat. Steve followed in one easy mechanical manoeuvre. Sif noticed the easy show of obedience, blinking at Loki. Loki smiled at her, immensely pleased. “Come. Time to face this Hydra.”

Loki raised his hand and snapped his fingers, the façade of Alexander Pierce covering him from his head to his toes. Sif rolled her eyes and said, “Was the snap of fingers necessary?”

“Yes,” Loki said with a grin, before turning to find that Steve had an extremely suspicious look on his face. Loki held up a hand to placate him. “This is only an illusion. He is still dead. You killed him, remember?”

Steve blinked. Blinked, frowned, and then slowly nodded, his shoulders shifting down a notch as the tension left his muscles. When Loki looked back at Sif, she was scowling. Loki realised she had probably never witnessed him displaying this level of patience with anyone. With Thor it was less patience and more resignation, but Steve, Loki had time for Steve. Steve who had held him in some reality far away, and looked at him with bright mourning in his eyes. Steve, whom the fates had brought right to his door. Of course Loki had patience.

Ignoring Sif's look, Loki held out a hand towards Steve, gently telling him, “Come. I have need of you.”

Steve followed, without question.

# ***

Pierce was an organised man, his people knowing what to do without being told. It meant they arrived to pick up their master and his soldier, ushering them into a long ugly vehicle and carrying him to their destination. Amidst the chaos of an invasion, Hydra had done a good job of insulating their own, their headquarters tucked away under an old stone building, reached by descending downwards in a robust metal cage. Beneath the ground, they walked down a green tinged corridor with flickering lights into a large dark room with a long table, surrounded by more Pierces in their dark suits, with their ruddy faces and almost identical haircuts. The nature of power, Loki thought, was that it was always shared amongst clones, which explained the people in the room.

Loki took a place at the head of the table, Steve positioning himself close. Loki smiled, watching everyone in the room with an expectant look. Loki thought about the Alexander Pierce he knew. Arrogant. Charming. Commanding. Loki laughed, remembering a perfected look Pierce used, like a father indulging his children.

“Well, someone say something,” he said.

 _Someone_ sighed. Looking annoyed, he said, “The intel on the SHIELD outpost was wrong. While our people were moving in, theirs had moved on.”

“With the Tesseract?” Loki asked.

“Maybe,” was the reply. “If not, definitely with their tech and weapons.”

Loki smiled. “So... _SHIELD_...still has the Tesseract.”

“Yes, they do,” confirmed another Pierce, only more irate. “Look, I still think we're barking up the wrong tree here. Kissing up to these aliens might get SHIELD out of the way, but it doesn't guarantee the Tesseract coming to us.”

“I agree,” Loki said. “It doesn't.”

“It's not what you said three days ago,” said another white-haired man. By the fates, Loki thought, even on Asgard people didn't look so inbred.

“Three days is an eternity,” Loki said. “Three days can turn the tide of a war. I've only had a change of opinion. I've seen the aliens are unpredictable, brash and undisciplined. Relying on them to clear a path to the Tesseract is too much to hope for. There's a danger that they might possess the Tesseract before we can. Their leader said some things that gave me great cause for concern.”

“Good,” said inbred Hydra clone number three, “I'm glad we're on the same page. We don't need to worry about the aliens. News of Iron Man and Captain America's death is spreading. They'll have the mobs and the remaining Avengers to deal with. Meanwhile, we go after the cube.”

“Getting those two pains in the ass out of the way is about the only thing we've gotten right so far,” Hydra clone number one said. “It's been easy enough convincing most that the culprits came from that army of giant blue freaks.”

Loki turned the words over in his head, letting them sink in before he quietly said, “Yes. Very well done.”

“Would have been easier if we'd had your assassin over there,” inbred Hydra number two said, casting a look of distaste in Steve's direction. “How about you put him back in the game instead of having him play glorified babysitter?”

“Very well. On my next visit you can take his place.” Loki was rewarded with a moment of mouth-flapping that ended in a wordless splutter. Loki smiled and said, “I think perhaps we should talk about the assassin after my next, and hopefully, final visit.”

“Why final?” asked a Hydra clone that had as yet remained silent.

Loki nodded towards the more vocal members of the table. “The aliens have nothing to offer us. We need to concentrate our efforts where we are likely to gain something. If you disagree, by all means, go in my place.”

But of course they weren't going to risk their lives, lives that had given them those ruddy complexions and unmoving hairstyles. They had all the marks of privilege. Looking at them, it would be impossible to guess that Midgard was under invasion. Loki would soon cure them of such complacency.

“We are done for now,” Loki said. “The aliens are expecting me to return with news of progress.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“I'll think of something,” Loki said.

They all left looking disgruntled, so wrapped up in their own desires that none of them seemed to have sensed something wrong with their leader. Loki walked around the room which smelled like damp and dirt, turning his nose up at the odour and the drab, dark and defeatist décor. In the corner of the room, up near the ceiling, was a small device with a red light. The tower had similar devices that Loki had easily brought under Asgardian control with simple magic.

Loki turned his back to the device, wondering how much information was held in this building on those clever clever Midgardian devices. He drew his hand out of his pocket, leaning against the wall to sigh heavily, whilst a small balled up thread between his fingers worked its way into the wall, where its magic would grow like a spider web, wrapping its way around all manner of conduits, reaching beyond the reachable.

Loki looked through the open door, finding two men in the hall outside dressed in black and in deep conversation. He picked up the words 'Brock', and then a passer by called the same man 'Rumlow'. He seemed to command some respect by those around him. Finished talking, he looked up and caught Loki watching him, immediately heading in his direction. He stepped into the room and offered a very stiff and sharp nod, ignoring Steve who hadn't moved from his post in the corner of the room.

“Sir. I've been told you'll be heading back to Stark Tower.”

“That's correct,” Loki said.

Rumlow cast Steve a look, before turning to Loki. “Any problems with the asset?”

“Not recently. In fact, he's been very well behaved,” Loki answer.

Rumlow nodded. “Good to know. Doc says wiping him again too soon might finally turn his brain to mush. If it hasn't already.”

Loki spared Steve a glance. He had a strange look on his face, expressionless, almost disconnected, as if he had removed himself from the present. For all the things Steve didn't seem to remember, it appeared he knew exactly what the fates might have in store for him in the presence of Rumlow.

“Well, before anything that drastic might happen, let's get this meeting out of the way,” Loki said, pushing away from the wall.

“I'll have the car brought around,” Rumlow said, before marching off.

Steve was still vacantly staring ahead after Rumlow left. Loki looked at him, before turning his head a fraction in the direction of the recording device. It was a subtle spell of cold that he used, causing the device to freeze, quietly cracking for the next few seconds. Loki walked up to Steve, tilting his own head a little to find the soldier behind the mask.

“We're going to leave now. You and I,” Loki said softly. Steve's eyes flicked to Loki's gaze and Loki could hear him breathing quiet but hard, like a cornered animal. His eyes had a bright sheen across them. Loki leaned in close to whisper against Steve's ear, “When the time comes, I'll let you be the one who makes... _mush_...of these people.”

Loki took a step back to find Steve's expression had become calm like the surface of a pond where the ripples had subsided. He was watching Loki, eyes wide with curiosity, mouth closed and keeping all questions private.

“Come,” Loki said, reaching out to place his hand on Steve's arm, slowly sliding it down onto his clenched fist. Loki wrapped his hand around Steve's. Steve looked at their joined hand but not at Loki, not at the illusion showing him Alexander Pierce. Loki made the glamour flicker, which made Steve look up and see both Pierce and Loki. “Do I have you with me?”

Steve frowned, but nodded, voice rusty when he replied, “Yes.”

# ***

“You didn't kill them.”

Thor was lying in a sunken bath tub filled with milky water and rose petals when Loki returned to the tower. Having commanded Steve to remain in his chambers, he decided to deliver his news to the king in person.

“Kill who?” Thor asked, reaching for a tall goblet and taking a swig before replacing it on the floor by the bath.”

“The Iron Man, and Captain America.” Loki crouched down, dipping a hand in the water to find it perfectly temperate. “Hydra orchestrated their deaths and made it appear that it was the Jotun incursion that caused them. The Midgardians are being told we have murdered their greatest heroes, in the hope that they will rebel against us, whilst Hydra continue to hunt the Tesseract, which is in the hands of their enemy. _SHIELD_.”

Thor leaned back, muscular arms stretching out atop the rim of the bath. He smiled at Loki and said, “You've been busy.”

Loki flicked water up at Thor and said, “On the contrary, I have been smart. My king.”

Thor rolled his yes, smacking a hand into the water in Loki's direction, sending a huge splash towards his face, which Loki only partly missed by holding up a hand. “And what do you advise now, in your infinite smartness?”

“That we reveal Hydra to be the murderers of Iron Man and Captain America. I have a spell searching Hydra's information as we speak for the proof I require. Oh, I had to borrow the big mirror from Sif's chamber, I hope she won't mind,” Loki said, moving from his crouch to stretch out on his side, propped up on an elbow.

“I thought I told you no magic,” Thor said, smelling warm and scented, his wet hand reaching up to hold Loki by the chin.

“It's a simple spell,” Loki said, pulling away from Thor's grasp. “It'll give us all they hold on SHIELD and the Tesseract.”

Thor nodded. “We must act quickly. The Chitauri have caught wind of our presence on Midgard. If they find out we're here because of the Tesseract, they will follow.”

“They will be too late,” Loki whispered leaning forward, “because you have me.”

Thor's mouth stretched into a smile as Loki pressed his lips to Thor's. Loki kissed him slow and at his own leisure, moving closer to lean over Thor who slipped further into the tub until his head was tipped back on the floor, Loki's hand sliding down his throat and the large expanse of Thor's chest. Thor grabbed Loki's hand, opening his mouth to another kiss, pulling it below the water and to where his cock had already grown hard. Thor was breathing hard against Loki's mouth, Loki almost wrapped across the top half of Thor, close to falling into the tub, his hand in the water, slowly sliding up and down Thor's cock. Thor's whole body stiffened when he came, pressing back into the tub, grabbing Loki hard by the back of his coat. In the calm and silence that followed, Loki leaned over Thor, kissing pinked skin and a parted mouth.

Thor blinked up at Loki, tugging on his hair. “Stay with me tonight.”

Loki shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Thor asked with a lazy smile. “Why? What other mischief do you have planned?”

Loki leaned in, conspiratorially whispering, “I have a soldier I would like to unwrap.”

Thor pulled back and arched a brow at Loki, looking completely unamused. A moment later his arms tightened around Loki, and as he sat up he dragged Loki into the tub with him, right onto his lap. Loki inelegantly flailed for a moment, mouth falling open in shock as water seeped into his clothes, Thor grinning boyishly at him. Loki pushed away from Thor to lean against the opposite side of the tub, slipping down a little, drawing his legs up and smoothing his hair back with both hands before he stretched his arms out across the rim of the bath.

“Everything the Jotuns say about you people is true,” Loki said, blinking water out of his eyes, watching Thor slipping between his legs, his body a heavy weight across Loki's.

“Looks like your clothes are ruined. Should probably stay here. Unless you intend to walk the halls naked,” Thor said, sliding up Loki's body.

"They're not ruined," Loki said with a smirk.

Something ripped loudly, out of sight, as Thor told Loki, “They're about to be.”


	6. Chapter 6

Loki was drifting between waking and sleeping, lying on his back in a nest of sheets, left leg slung over the top of Thor's knee, the king lying on his side, turned towards Loki. Loki had one hand lying limp on his own chest, the left one against Thor's chest, Thor's arm slung across his waist. The sheets were messily wound and wedged around and under their hips. They seemed to have done everything they could to tie themselves to each other, without even thinking about it. Thor's chin was resting on Loki's shoulder, and he had been whispering nonsense into Loki's ear, which after a while had begun to lull him towards sleep. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, but then with each blink his eyelids became heavier and heavier and then...

 _Father_ , the roar of an insatiable beast. The sizzle of snow on skin burnt to a crisp. Hands, turned red and black. A prickly promise-filled kiss. A man with golden hair and blue eyes, a smile too apt at concealing sadness. A dream within a dream, a drumbeat of _ragna ragna ragna ragna_ and the searing heated touch of a needle piercing his lips.

Loki sat up gasping, eyes and mouth wide open, his hand clutching his chest over his heart which was hammering so hard he thought his chest might crack. Loki coughed, his mouth and lips dry, tongue useless for words, face twisted in a grimace of fear. Thor was scrambling up next to him, his arm appearing around Loki's waist.

“Loki?”

Loki turned his head to stare at Thor, eyes still wide, almost stuck. For a moment Thor made no sense, his hair too dark, his eyes looking icier than they should have been. Loki moved away from Thor, but Thor followed, leaning forward and firmly taking Loki by the arm.

“Loki,” he said firmly, a command, not a name. When Loki nodded, the question was delivered much softer. “What is it?”

“I keep...I keep burning,” Loki muttered. “I'm going to...something is going to come and-”

“No,” Thor said, moving closer, cupping Loki's cheek. “The spell did not show you the future, you know this.”

Loki shook his head, looking at Thor through blurred vision. “You weren't there.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor said. “You dream of the fate of others. Look, I am here, with you. I would never let you burn.”

Loki blinked, Thor's thumb rubbing away the wetness as soon as it fell. He frowned, the pieces of his dream puzzle hanging in his mind. “I don't...I don't remember. I don't remember why.”

“Why what?” Thor asked, too soft, too patient, making Loki want to run. “What is it?”

“Why are we here? Did you follow me to Midgard?” Loki asked.

Thor looked slightly taken aback, but the dark of his hair was becoming more palatable. This room was looking more familiar. When Thor took Loki's hand, he didn't want to pull away. “We are looking for the Tesseract, remember?”

“The Tesseract,” Loki said, trying to reach past the sludge of nightmares.

“You said, you dreamt of the Tesseract,” Thor explained. “I...I asked you to make mirror magic, to search for the Tesseract. Instead of here, you found it across many realities, always on Midgard. So now we are here.”

“Why can't I remember?” Loki asked, swallowing down the tight lump in his throat. “Why can I remember _everything_ but doing what you asked?”

Thor looked frustrated by the question, by the fact that he was not answering it for the first time. “I told you. After the spell...you were raving, screaming. The Svartálfar _had_ to purge you of the moment you cast the spell.”

“You let them into my head,” Loki said tightly. He got up from the bed, bringing one of the sheets with him, leaving Thor under a red one, a white one held around Loki's waist. “You let the Dwarves tamper with my mind.”

“I had no choice,” Thor said. “You would have stripped yourself of your own skin if they hadn't helped. The things you were saying, Loki. They struck fear into the bravest Asgardians. I could not leave you trapped in your mind like that.”

“Better that than this,” Loki said, jabbing a finger towards his temple. “And you did not _ask_ me. The arrogant king _commanded_ it. That I remember.”

“Asgard is on the brink of destruction! What would you have me do?” Thor yelled, loud enough for those outside the room. “Tell me what I should do!”

Loki blinked mutely at Thor. He wasn't supposed to care about towers and princely palaces, a jewel-like realm built by his forefathers. He was supposed to care only about the lives in that realm, to find them safe passage to a new home. He wasn't supposed to be like this. Loki frowned at the nonsensical thoughts. This was the Thor he had always known. Proud and arrogant. He was doing what he had always done; exactly what he wanted.

Loki turned away, murmuring. “I told you not to let me fall asleep.”

“Where are you going?” Thor asked. “Loki. You have no clothes, at least have someone bring you-”

Loki twisted around and threw his sheet at Thor's face. His voice was shaky when he told Thor, “Just leave me be.”

Thor sighed, looking away. He leaned to the side and picked something off the floor, before throwing it in Loki's direction. “Go,” he said quietly. “Be.”

Loki walked away, quite sure that he would have to walk very far before Thor would ever come after him.

# ***

The guards posted outside Loki's chamber eyed him with a complete lack of humour as Loki walked past them, a small part of the dark brown cloak tied around his waist dragging on the floor. Loki ignored them, coming to a stop when he saw Steve standing in front of the mirror _borrowed_ from Sif, watching the patterns on the surface, frowning ever so slightly. Loki was fairly certain he hadn't moved from that sport since they returned to the tower.

Loki compared the image of the soldier with that of the man from his visions. There was a healthiness missing from the soldier's bulk. There was strength in those bones for certain, but Loki also sensed a weariness. Sometimes it looked as though he was being hung from invisible strings. So strong was the image from those visions, that Steve seemed wrong. He seemed like a tear in the fabric of the universe, dark with ragged edges, as if his existence was a result of violence upon the very cosmos. It made Loki's stomach turn in a way that unnerved him.

Loki silently walked across the room, not expecting at all that Steve would whip around and clamp that metal hand around Loki's throat. Tight. Loki looked down Steve's outstretched arm, right into wild and confused eyes. Steve's mouth was clamped shut into a line of misery, his face unhealthily flushed, something feverish glittering in his eyes, face shining with a sheen of sweat. Though the grip of his metal hand was tight around Loki's throat, Steve seemed to be shaking, off balance.

Loki pulled at his hand, grating out, “Stop.”

Steve took a shaky step forward, his hand tightening. Loki growled, both his hands gripping at the wrist of the metal arm. Steve was breathing hard, unsteady on his feet. It wouldn't take much to bring him to his knees, Loki thought, sending crackling energy right into Steve's arm. Steve let go immediately, falling on the floor hard, curling around the metal arm, shaking and breathless.

Loki swayed on his feet, coughing and massaging his abused throat. “ _That_ was uncalled for.”

Steve looked up with a heated scowl, his gaze a mixture of confusion and weariness. “You called me by a name. Why?”

Loki cleared his throat, grimacing. “It's your name. Whether you remember it or not.”

Steve shook his head. “I don't.”

Loki crouched down before Steve. “I can make you remember. Is that what you want?”

“Why?” Steve asked, his voice a tired croak. “Why do you care?”

“ _Fate_ has brought you to me,” Loki whispered. “I am compelled to care.”

Steve scowled, and then his mouth did something strange. One side of it shifted and he was suddenly laughing, his eyes turning bright and filling with unmistakeable tears. The laughter was quiet, almost drunken, lacking in any joy or humour. Behind him, the mirror was still dark, spidery lines of letters scrolling downwards, trickling into Loki's reservoir of information. Soon he would have what he wanted. Loki reached out and placed his hand on Steve's shoulder. The laughter stuttered to a stop, Steve just staring up at Loki in silence.

“Come,” Loki said, moving his hand to Steve's arm, pulling him up to his feet. He pulled the arm around his own shoulders, walking Steve towards the bedchamber. His footsteps were heavy, just like his weight against Loki's side. Loki eased Steve down onto the bed, helping him to lie down. “Sleep. When you wake, bathe and eat.”

Steve blinked at Loki, looking pinned down by his own weight. “Do you sleep?”

Loki frowned, surprised by the question. “When I have no fear of dreams.”

“Dreams,” Steve echoed, his eyes searching for something across the expanse of white ceiling.

“Yes, dreams,” Loki said. “You must dream.”

“I can't remember,” Steve said, sounding lost and bewildered.

“Can't you?” Loki asked, unable to look away from the metal arm, still feeling metal fingers wrapped around his throat. “Do you want to?”

Steve's eyes closed and he went completely still. Maybe sleep had finally taken him, or maybe he just didn't want to answer. Loki quietly stepped away from the bed, unwrapping Thor's cloak from around his waist and draping it over the back of a chair. He picked up a discarded black shirt and a pair of black breeches, putting them on, his eyes on Steve the whole time.

He slowly drifted back towards his bed, where Steve lay motionless, eyes closed, mouth still pressed together in misery. Why do you care, he had asked Loki. Loki whispered the answer, loud enough only for his own ears, “Because somewhere far away, you mourned my passing, and I cannot let it go.”

Steve's eyes cracked open slightly, showing a sliver of blue. Loki didn't shy away from the look. He stood under its gaze until Steve closed his eyes and slowly turned onto his side, turning his back on everything, including Loki.

# ***

Loki left Steve to sleep, going to the mirror, reaching out and pressing his finger against the glass, touching one blinking cluster.

“Voice of the tower,” Loki said quietly. “I have need of you.”

“How may I assist, sir?” came a disembodied and polite reply.

Loki smiled. The voice of the tower was impressive, perhaps the best of Midgardian magic. It had taken some time to make it comply and work against its master, but comply it finally did.

“The man asleep in the next room,” Loki said. “What ails him?”

The voice reeled off a long list, impressively long, the most important of which was a mind so tampered, the elements within Steve's skull were registering as erratic. His blood too it seemed was craving something that had been regularly administered, and now its sudden loss had weakened the soldier. _But_ , the voice told him, Steve was healing fast. Loki didn't need to know why. There was something in Steve's blood that made him heal, made him strong. Loki _knew_. He couldn't remember the vision that had graced him with this knowledge, the knowledge just seemed lodged in his mind.

“Jarvis,” Loki said, trying out the name the voice had presented them all with the first time they stepped into the tower, before it attempted to turn on the Asgardians. “I want to know what happened to Steve Rogers.”

A screen on the wall lit up, images flying across it and then shaking slightly where they sat. Loki walked up to the screen and pressed his hand over one of the small images, Jarvis providing a running commentary about the life and death of Steven Grant Rogers. The image opened to a recording of a fuller faced Steve, his smile bright and joyful. Next to him was a dark-haired man laughing. Loki moved onto other images of Steve, dressed in his Captain America garb, until there were no more left. He'd fought and fallen into a snowy void, and Midgard had swiftly moved on.

“Is the man asleep in my bed Steve Rogers?” Loki asked as he looked in the direction of the bedchamber.

Jarvis listed all the information at his disposal that confirmed exactly what Loki knew. The important question here really was how to bring him back from whatever Hydra had done to him. Loki went back to the mirror, back to everything his spell had extracted from Hydra. He beckoned his armchair close, which effortlessly slid across the floor. Falling into it, he tilted his head at the mirror, his eyes tracing the threads that ran between clusters.

First the asset, Loki thought, then the Tesseract.


	7. Chapter 7

Hydra documented everything they did to Steve Rogers, the man who was once Captain America. They turned their enemy into their weapon, it was an achievement, so of course they recorded everything. Loki fed the lines of information from the mirror straight into Stark's sophisticated magic, Hydra's innards hanging before Loki on a large transparent screen with edges that glowed unnaturally, showing him images, moving and still, of how they stripped away the man and made him a machine.

He had fallen into a snowy void, dying in the line of duty. Hydra dragged him back into the land of the living as a shadow of himself, a ghost. They took what was left of his arm, and replaced it with metal. They took his will, and replaced it with commands. He tried to run, but they always found him, beating both body and mind into submission. If not with chemicals, then fists. If not electricity, then ice. They took his memories, but they left the fear. When they pushed him down and silenced him, his frozen eyes said he knew what came next.

Loki held up a hand, and the image before him stopped moving, freezing Steve where he lay on a cruel looking chair, strapped down, muscles taut as he arched away from the pain. It felt wrong to see him this way. Loki blinked against the assault of a memory, no, no, the memory of a vision, of Steve in blue, swinging a shield, shoulders strong enough to hold up the fate of infinite realms. _Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ something hissed in Loki's mind, _fix it. Fix this._ How, Loki asked himself, how?

_When this is done, you and I are going to talk about magic and mirrors_

Loki frowned, Steve's voice too clear in his head, followed by a high-pitched screeching that sliced through his mind. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, mouth opening in a silent scream as he fell to his knees, clapping his hands over his ears, the pain so intense he couldn't even muster a scream. His breath was stuck in his chest, his jaw clenched shut, the air thinning in his lungs. Nausea was creeping up towards Loki's head, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Then suddenly, silence.

Uncurling himself, Loki realised he was lying on the floor, face wet with involuntary tears. He pulled his hands away from his ears, ringing and aching. When Loki sat up, leaning against the armchair, he found Stark's projections were still hanging in the air, as if nothing had transpired. Loki let his head drop back, closing his eyes, and getting his breath back. His invisible wounds were still festering with dark magic. Maybe the answer really was to stop using magic altogether.

As Loki's breathing calmed and his heart stopped hammering in his chest, he heard a single sound in the otherwise silent room, a quiet trickle from directly ahead of him. Loki lifted his head, blinking open his eyes. The only thing right in front of him was the mirror. Loki stood up on unsteady legs, walking towards the mirror, right through Stark's transparent screen. The mirror was still a pool of dark with silver and white strands hanging in webs and clusters, falling in lines, threads ready for plucking.

Loki peered closer and frowned. Right at the top and centre of the mirror was something that was definitely not one of those strands. Loki reached out to touch it and the unmistakable sound of a crack followed, making him take a surprised step back. The not-strand extended further down, turning into a crack the length of Loki's forefinger. It cracked again and again, compelling Loki to take another step back. He swallowed, watching the crack snaking its way towards the bottom of the frame, causing the rippling black waters of magic to part.

When the crack reached the bottom of the frame, the black behind the crack remained parted. Loki tentatively approached the mirror again. Only now it seemed there were two mirrors on either side of the crack, two sets of the same lines and webs. Loki pursed his mouth around the question he hadn't quite decided yet, his eyes drifting from crack to mirror and back to the crack. He shook his head, but was unable to shake free the scratch just under his skull. He ran his finger down a small portion of the crack, a move he realised was idiotic the moment he felt glass slice skin.

He snatched his hand away with a hiss, head snapping up to look at the mirror when the line in the middle widened with a loud resounding crack, the silver white webs that had floated in cosmic black waters having created tiny breaks in the glass of the mirror. Loki stared at his reflection. Only, it was wrong, his skin paler than it had ever been, raven-black hair hanging by his ears. His reflection blinked when he blinked, moved back when he moved, and shook his head when he did. It was entirely possible that his reflection's stomach was also turning.

“You broke my mirror.” Loki spun towards the sound of Sif's voice, staring at her with wide stuck eyes. Sif frowned, staying her ground.

“Look.” Loki swallowed, pointing a bloody finger at the mirror. Sif made a tentative approach, eyeing Loki with caution before turning her gaze on the mirror. She turned back to give Loki a questioning look. “What do you see?”

“You and I,” Sif replied. “And a broken mirror.”

Loki shook his head, a weakness and worry creeping through his muscles, all the way from his legs to his face. He stepped closer to the mirror, not daring to touch it, just pointing at his reflection. “Do you see me?”

“Yes,” Sif nodded, though it sounded like a question. In a tone Loki did not appreciate, Sif asked, “Do you?”

Loki clenched his jaw, raking his fingers through his hair, before stepping towards Sif, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning in. “My hair. My skin. My eyes. Look at them. Look.”

Sif gave the mirror a confused look, and then Loki a sympathetic one. “Loki, there is a reason why Thor does not wish for you to use magic, especially this. Mirrors do not just reflect, they show you things you are not meant to see. Things that remain with you, and twist your thoughts. If you are seeing something in the mirror that is not a true reflection, then you must tell Thor.”

Loki held up his hands and stepped back, his false smile stretching his face taut. “Was there ever a time you could take a jest?”

Sif didn't believe Loki, looking concerned. “Loki-”

Loki growled with frustration, flinging out his arm and releasing a wave of angry energy that sent his armchair toppling across the room, after which he glared at the innocent piece of furnishing, breathing hard. “I grow _sick_ of this realm.”

“Loki. The mirror,” Sif said, a tone of insistence in her voice.

Loki scowled, his hands hanging limp by his sides, heavy with unspent rage. “Is not working the way it should. My magic is not working the way it should.”

“Loki,” Sif said, gently placing a hand on Loki's elbow, and pulling him around. “What do you see?”

Loki looked at the mirror, seeing the dark-haired reflection stare back vacantly. His voice caught in his throat when he said, “Cracks. I see cracks.”

Sif was looking at the spider web pattern, perfectly symmetrical either side of that one single line that ran all the way down. The mirror should have fallen to pieces, but it remained where it was, showing Loki all the cracks that ran right through him and everything around him.

“Are you still having visions?” Sif asked.

Loki closed his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. He shook his head, the lie coming easily. “No. They are no more than annoying memories that plague my sleep.”

“Carrying the memories of one lifetime is enough. I cannot imagine carrying the memories of lives I haven't even lived,” Sif said. “I do not envy you.”

Loki mustered a smile. “Why would you? You have everything you desire.”

“Do I?” Sif asked, her expression bland. She sighed, looking away from him. “I came here with news. It is not going to make you happy.”

“I'm quite sure the list of things that don't make me happy has been exhausted,” Loki said. “but do go on.”

“Thor is meeting with the Svartálfar tomorrow. He will most likely expect you to be there with him. What are your intentions?”

“Meeting the Svartálfar.” Loki immediately felt his heart shift somewhere down into his stomach.“What for?”

“Thor wants to slow down the decline of Asgard for as long as possible,” Sif answered. “He thinks the Svartálfar are the only ones who might be able to find a way.”

Loki opened his mouth to say something, to object, but he found he had no alternatives to offer. He was one Jotun with a tainted mind and broken magic. The Svartálfar was a realm of magic wielders. If anyone could stop Asgard from falling apart before it could be saved, it was probably the Dwarves. The same Dwarves who had maimed his magic.

“Is that the only reason Thor's meeting with them?” Loki asked Sif.

“It is the only reason I know of,” Sif said simply.

Loki tried for a smile, but it didn't sit well on his mouth, disappearing at the first uncertain quiver. “You're a terrible liar. I doubt Thor would tell you if he was meeting them for another reason.”

“There is no other reason,” Sif said, sounding too much like she was trying to placate a child.

“Not even the mad Jotun that lives in your midst?” Loki asked, trying not to shake with the slow creeping feeling of mania, his reflection too visible in the corner of his eye.

Sif snorted at that. “Trust me. The maddest Jotun is still nowhere as mad as the sanest Asgardian.”

“Like the king who would have me stop using magic for everything, but the spell that will bring Asgard to Midgard?” Loki asked.

Sif was shaking her head, loyal to the core. “Thor intends to ask the Svartálfar if there is a way that does not require the use the power of the Tesseract.”

“Good luck,” Loki said. 

Sif sighed. “You complain, but are you willing to see Asgard destroyed? If Thor releases you from your duty, will you stand by and do nothing?”

Loki swallowed, shaking his head. “Of course not.”

“You had no feeling for Midgard before you cast the spell to seek out the Tesseract,” Sif said. “Whatever you feel for this realm, it is an illusion.”

“I feel nothing for this realm. But I do worry our attempts to save Asgard will leave it in pieces,” Loki said. He pointed at the mirror. “Is it worth saving Asgard if it ends up looking like that?”

“It won't,” Sif said. “Thor assures me.”

“And what does Thor know of magic beyond reading the odd rune?” Loki asked. “I'll tell you what he knows. He means to have the Svartálfar tamper further with my mind. He means for them to take my memories from me.”

Sif was shaking her head. “He wishes only for you to continue healing.”

“The blank space in my mind where a memory of casting the seeking spell should be, but isn't, tells me otherwise.” Sif had an unsettling look of sympathy on her face. “This isn't madness.”

“I am not saying it is,” Sif said. “But I fear it may become madness.”

Loki clamped his mouth shut in a tight smile, shaking his head. But then when he looked at his black-haired reflection, he had to ask himself, was it madness after all? The reflection looked back at Loki, his smile falling.

“I just want to remember,” Loki said quietly. He looked at his bloody hand, surprised that such a small cut on his finger had caused such a large mess. “That's all I want.”

“Why?” Sif looked genuinely confused. “You cast a spell, we were all there. And then you screamed. You screamed, clawed at your own skin. Is that what you want to remember? You want to remember how we held you down so you would not tear into yourself? Trust me, I was there, you do not want to remember that. I would not wish it on my worst enemy to relive that moment.”

Loki shook his head. “It's a feeling. Something deeper than skin and bones. There is something the Svartálfar took from me, and I must find out what it was.”

“If you say those words to Thor, you give him cause to think you mad.” Sif looked blank, just staring at him. Loki turned away from Sif, going to stand in front of the cracked mirror. Sif sighed irritably. “Loki. _Loki.”_

“You can tell Thor not to expect me at his side when he speaks with the Dwarves. I'd sooner dine with pigs,” Loki said, stubbornly glaring at the black-haired and green eyed reflection.

“You are his consort-” Sif began.

“And you are his queen,” Loki snapped, watching his paler features morph with anger. “Maybe not in name, _yet_ , but that is who you are. So go do your duty and stand by him.”

“And you?” Sif asked, voice strained by barely tempered anger. “What will you do while I do my duty?”

Loki swallowed, nodding. “Wait for the moment I have to do mine.”

Sif simmered in silence for a moment, before wordlessly turning on her heel and marching out, Loki staring at his reflection. His chambers felt like they were closing in, and even worse, he could see their walls in the mirror, a Midgardian prison dressed up to look like home. He wanted to run, to get away from the tower, even just for a stolen moment or two. He looked at the threshold to his chambers. There was no way to leave this tower without seeing.

Except for one.

Loki looked at the mirror, finding a grimly determined reflection. Pressing his blood-stained palm against a small expanse of glass that wasn't cracked, he closed his eyes and whispered the spell to make doors out of mirrors, seeking out sanctuary. He hadn't finished uttering the last words when he lurched forward. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a large room, the floor dark and wooden, the walls marred by flaking décor, red and gray. The ceiling had large beams that held up the roof and the two large boarded windows on the walls either side of Loki were still letting tinted light streak into the large empty space, casting a strange ethereal glow around the dusty mist.

Loki's heart and mind seemed to stutter as he turned to find the mirror through which he had entered. He stared at it, finding that same black-haired reflection, finding the same mirror he had stepped through in the tower, the same exact mirror, with the same cracks. Loki's eyes moved along lines running through him and the mirror, before he turned and looking at the double doors with their brass handles at the far end of the room. Outside those doors was a flight of stairs that widened on its way down into a circular hall, one side of the hall leading out to the street, another leading into a forgotten library. He knew this place. It had been a sanctuary for the one who had burned, and now the fates had brought him here too.


	8. Chapter 8

The doors opened into darkness. The air smelled of cold and dust. Even his quietest movement disturbed the silence of the stairwell. Loki took a step forward and terror gripped his heart. He felt like a twisted metal wire was wrapped around his lungs, tightening slowly until its sharp barbs snagged on flesh. He took a shuddering breath, heated with anger and frustration, forcing himself onwards.

_Turn back_

Loki stopped, bracing a hand against the wall, staring into himself. The words were an echo, a serpentine hiss. He thought he felt his skin warm. He could see his hand shaking against the wall. If he looked hard enough, the skin wasn't pale. It was raw red and burnt black, and he could smell his own torched flesh. Loki gave in, unable to stay balanced in a tilting universe, hanging his head and emptying his guts onto the stone steps until there was nothing but bile.

He sat leaning against the wall, the cool stone of the building blissful against his cheek. His gut was wrenching and his mess was right there by his feet. He wanted nothing more than to be on Asgard, with Thor making promises the sizes of realms. But here he was, his mind pumping his body with fear, even though his quaking heart was sure he should go forward.

_Do you want to burn?_

Loki grit his teeth, clamping both his mouth and eyes shut, knocking his forehead against the wall. _Stop it,_ he told himself, _just stop this._ Loki forced himself up, taking slow tentative steps downwards, fingers keeping contact with the wall until he reached the bottom and stood outside the doors to the library. He placed his hands on brass handles and pulled them open, braced for whatever might come through.

Nothing. Just more dust and stale air. He walked in, moving through the space as if he were a ghost haunting this long forgotten place. There was a door up ahead. He knew that behind it was a corridor, two rooms on the left, two on the right. He closed his eyes, letting memory move him forward and down the corridor and looking into the rooms, one of them filled with light, Steve asleep on the bed, unaware of being guarded by a god.

Loki's eyes snapped open. He let out a rough shuddering breath, hands clenched by his side. He'd seen visions of himself in countless universes, madness sewn into his soul. Maybe this was the fate of all who were called Loki. He growled in frustration, combing his fingers through his hair, his hand ending up fisted at the back of his head, tugging on his hair until it was painful; maybe he could make the madness bleed out. Bleed it out before they all saw him unravel, just like they always expected.

"Hide anything sharp. When Jotun madness strikes, you know the true meaning of madness." Someone had laughed and clapped Thor on the shoulder at their wedding banquet with that advice. Another had leaned in and gravely added, “It is no laughing matter. Why do you think Odin keeps them at arm's length?”

Thor had looked across at Loki, who was standing far away enough to not intrude, but close enough to hear every vile word. Thor's gaze was cool and collected as he said, “Not all of them. There are some he brings into the embrace of Asgard.”

The words had rattled in his mind for months after. Not only was he the Jotun prince in Asgard, the reluctantly accepted consort, and once foundling son to Odin and Frigga, he was also a madman in waiting. If he was kept awake at night by the crushing weight of expectation, he was hardly to blame.

“Do you not sleep well?” Thor whispered during their stay on Jotunheim.

They were in Loki's old chambers, a cavernous round rock room. Thick, dark, wooden beams stretched across the ceiling and stood as pillars, were built into walls to hold books, and framed a large fireplace that made Asgardians raise their brows in surprise when the chill outside failed to penetrate in. Between the heavy doors and large bed with its solid wooden frame, the floor was littered with thick animal furs, the bed a nest of warm blankets. Laufey had made sure his Asgardian son-in-law would have nothing to complain about on his return to Asgard. Loki's complaints would be nothing new.

Loki tiredly blinked at the fireplace, his head on Thor's arm, back pressed up against Thor's chest. Their hands were loosely twined together, Loki's fingers relaxed, Thor's moving and playing with them. He took hold of a finger and shook it, nosing at the hair behind Loki's ear. “Are you pretending to sleep now?”

“Yes,” Loki whispered, eyes fixated on the flickering flames.

“It is not working,” Thor said, the shape of his lips a smile against Loki's jaw. He settled back against his pillow, but his fingers moved from Loki's, and his hand covered Loki's eyes. Loki sighed. “Sleep.”

“You cannot command sleep,” Loki said.

“I can hear the need for it in your voice,” Thor said. “What is it? What do you fear? You think I cannot be trusted?”

Loki laughed quietly. “Hardly.”

“Then what?” Thor asked, and it was a gentle question. Too gentle. It made Loki think of that calm blue gaze that had looked at him across a banquet hall.

“Why does it matter?” Loki asked, closing his eyes under Thor's palm. “Not afraid are you? That Laufey has palmed his mad offspring onto you?”

This time it was Thor who sighed, heavy and full of regal patience. His hand smoothed upwards from Loki's eyes and into his hair. “If he has, it is too late for it to matter.”

Loki tried not to bristle at the answer, pushing a tight smile to his face even if it couldn't be seen. “I'm sure if All-father Odin wanted to dissolve this union, he could.”

“I do not believe he could,” Thor answered softly. Loki frowned, trying to turn and look at Thor. Thor snaked his arm across Loki's chest, holding him in place. “Try to sleep. I need you with me tomorrow.”

Loki fell into silence, wider awake than ever, listening to crackling sounds of the fireplace. His mouth felt dry, the truth unpalatable even for his own taste. “I am...plagued by an assortment of nightmares since childhood, and I do what I can to avoid them.”

Thor's hold seemed to tighten enough to squeeze a trail of wetness from Loki's eye, running down the side of his face and thankfully disappearing into his hair. “You must sleep sometimes.”

Loki nodded, tired and on the cusp of sleep, the wedding celebrations of months ago finally having worn him down. “When you must, you must.”

“Try then. I'll keep watch, wake you if I think you are in the grip of a nightmare.” Thor sounded wistful, and Loki knew it was regret over broken childhood promises. It was a foolish thing to regret; what child ever held their own fate in their hands? “Loki?”

“The things I dream of,” Loki whispered. “I dream the dreams of a madman.”

“That is your fear speaking,” Thor reasoned.

“That is my gut,” Loki said. “What will you do when I am proved right? When madness has me losing my mind in the palaces of Odin?”

Thor shifted, pulling away completely for a moment, before Loki found himself on his back, Thor peering down at him with the most ridiculously determined look on his face. “I will not allow it. ”

Loki smiled, heavy aching eyes not allowing his smile to reach far. “You cannot reason with madness.”

Thor's smile was soft, strangely timid. “Kings do not reason. I would command it keep its hands off what is mine.”

This time Loki laughed. He sighed, sounding too fond to his own ears when he said, “Asgardians. Is there nothing you would not beat into submission?”

Thor's smile shifted to amusement, and he dipped his head for a short sweet kiss that left Loki speechless with its tenderness. Loki swallowed, his voice lowered, words spoken only for Thor to hear. “I don't want...don't let me lose my mind.”

Thor stared at him, sympathy shifting the waters of his blue eyes. “Why are you so certain that is your fate?”

Loki couldn't answer the question, so he let Thor kiss his fears away for the moment. He told himself that dreams could sometimes just be dreams. Thor never mentioned madness again, nor did he ever find Loki wandering the halls at night and imply it was caused by anything other than an unwillingness to be held captive by one's own dreams. They both buried Loki's fear of madness. Only now, here Loki was thinking, not for the first time, that perhaps there was something broken inside him. Something that had nothing to do with the Svartálfar. The realisation left him standing there in the library, numb, empty, and still. _Wake up,_ he thought nonsensically, _wake up._

Paper shifted somewhere in the library, a smart breeze somehow finding its way into the boarded building. Loki turned and walked towards the rows of shelving until he was near the beginning of the very first shelf. Books had been left behind without a thought, their secrets and truths no longer of value to anyone. No wonder Midgard was riddled with ignorance, if this was the fate of knowledge. Loki cast his eyes over the lines of books, stopping at one which seemed to jut out, almost over the edge of its shelf.

He pulled it out, running his hand over the green cover decorated with a gilt tree. He traced its branches, his finger still stained with dried blood. Loki lifted the cover, dropping it when it sounded as if something had knocked against the door. Loki turned around, slowly walking through the library. The doors leading out were locked, but it took the most of mundane of magic to open them, revealing the world outside. Loki walked down four stone steps into a mess of overgrown bushes, trees and weeds that separated the building from Midgard beyond.

Book in hand, Loki ventured further until he was out on a street. He looked up to find a lamppost he expected, and a street corner that he felt as if he had walked around before. All the visions of all those other Lokis had faded, leaving the memories of just one. He whose life had been a richer version of the reflection in which Loki seemed to be trapped. Loki walked onwards, crossing the street and rounding the corner until he came to a stop in front of a building with a glass front. Behind the glass were numerous screens, all showing images of devastation caused by Jotun and Asgardian armies.

“Crazy, huh? One minute everyone's pretending like Roswell's a lie, and then suddenly there's like Greek gods and blue giants. What is that even?”

Loki scowled, turning to find a puzzled looking young man at his side. He was a good few inches shorter, his hair shorn close, and his wiry frame carrying a generous number of frayed layers. His blue eyes had a dazed look about them, and his small mouth had a distinct and sullen pout. Loki knew the face, he was certain of it.

“You okay, man? Your hand's totally covered in blood.”

Loki looked at his hand, the blood more apparent in daylight. He shook his head. “You need not concern yourself.” The man nodded, shrugged and then turned to go. “Wait. Do you live in these parts?”

The man snorted and grinned. “Uh, yeah. I _live in these parts_.”

“Is there a place close by where one can dine?” The other man seemed to stop finding Loki funny, now just frowning and looking suspicious.

“I have a girlfriend?” he finally answered.

Loki frowned. “I have no interest in your friends. There, in that direction, I am right, aren't I? There is a place.”

“The diner? Yeah, yeah, it's been there like forever.”

“Take me to it,” Loki said.

This earned Loki an incredibly affronted look. “What? What am I? Like your butler or something?”

Loki conjured a gem and flicked it upwards, his momentary companion catching and staring at it with a gleam in his eyes before he said, “This way, Master Bruce.”

“My lord,” Loki said, following his now enthusiastic guide. “If you must address me. What is your name?”

“Joey,” was the answer, creating another itch under Loki's skull. “Look, there. That the place you mean?”

Loki had found what he was looking for, a building with a front which was half red stone and clear glass, curling letters flashing in the window and announcing that this was a place to dine. Inside were leather seats arranged either side of tables, or stools in front of one long table behind which were the servers. Loki drank in the sight which seemed so familiar to him, his mind conjuring sounds he couldn't hear, but knew were from this place, cutlery and murmurs, the tinny sound of music. Two quiet voices.

_I have seen glimpses of other realities. Seen myself in them, always an agent of a chaos. Why should this reality be any different? What's so special about this place?_

_You are._

“You are,” Loki echoed, hearing the words clear in his head, Steve's voice distinct, like soothing cold on burning skin. Loki turned back in the direction of the library and started walking, aware that Joey was trailing behind and talking all kinds of gibberish that made no sense.

Loki ignored him until he reached the library, turning and flicking another gem at Joey, who caught it against his chest and frowned. “What's this for?”

“For when I have need of you,” Loki said, giving Joey a firm look to let him know it was a command and not a request. Joey nodded dumbly and took a step back.

Loki stalked back up the stairs of the library, book gripped in bloody hand, mind filled with dusty visions. As he neared the mirror, he watched the approach of his dark-haired and pale-skinned reflection, looking both ghostly and haunted at the same time. He glared at him, that lie in the mirror, mouth lifting in a challenging smile, before Loki slammed his palm against the mirror and returned to the tower.


	9. Chapter 9

Loki was used to looks, whether it was on Asgard, Jotunheim, or Midgard. Wherever he went, they looked. Today it was at his dishevelled appearance as he walked towards Thor's Midgardian throne room, still clutching his green book in his bloody hand, mouth dry and stomach empty, mind filled with rocks weighing his head down. He stopped when he heard Thor venting at someone, which was always worth a listen.

“You are advising me that we should not use the Casket, and not use the Tesseract, yet you bring me no other solution.”

“My lord,” came a stammering reply which made Loki snort where he stood leaning against a smooth rounded pillar. “The Svartálfar are cunning. They will find a way. You must not in haste make the terrible mistake you are thinking of making.”

“And what mistake is that?” Thor asked in a tone that suggested this was a question best left unanswered. Don't answer it, you fool, Loki thought.

“Allowing powerful instruments such as the Casket and the Tesseract into Jotun hands.” Loki grimaced, shaking his head. “I cannot understand why the fate of Asgard must rest on a Jotun.”

“Because, you fool,” Thor answered, his voice low and dangerous. “I will do what my father was never able to do. When Loki saves Asgard at my command, I will prove that I have the loyalty of all Jotunheim.”

“Odin would never-”

“Odin is dead!” Thor shouted, loud enough that Loki was sure his anger had reached the skies and made them rumble with disgruntlement. Loki heard a dull smack, followed by metal hitting the floor as Thor yelled, “ _I_ _am your king!”_

Tense silence followed, filled with Thor's simmering anger, the air trembling with his advisor's fear. Loki could make out Thor's ragged breathing as he barely kept his rage under control. Mad Jotuns and raging Asgardians, what a brilliant idea, Loki thought.

“Go. Get out of my sight and stay out of it until I have need of you,” Thor said. “Why are you still standing there? Go!”

Something else smashed, but it looked as though whoever it was aimed at had escaped. A moment later, Loki saw the advisor that had been the object of Thor's ire, a typical warrior of a passing era, all wide shoulders and too much red-beard. There was a cut high up on his cheek, dribbling a line of blood into his beard, making blue eyes look bright and shocked. Loki greeted the man with a tilt of the head to the side. Both noted each other's wounds, said nothing, and passed each other by, Loki walking into the throne room where two guards were standing with their eyes fixed on the ground. Loki gave them a look, their signal to leave the king and consort in private. Thor saw nothing, standing with his palms flat on a table, leaning over it, his frame tense, and his back to the room.

He mistook Loki's footfalls for someone else, snapping, “I told you to get out.”

Loki didn't correct him, stopping in the middle of the round room, one of its walls made of clear glass so once upon a time Stark could have look down at his city. “I hear the Svartálfar are coming.”

Thor's head turned slightly towards Loki's voice with a jerky movement of surprise, but he stayed where he was, not looking directly at Loki. “I thought you wanted me to leave you be.”

Loki chewed on the inside of his lip, considering taking the bait and then deciding against it. “When are they coming?”

Thor turned around with a sigh, leaning against the table and looking like a dark cloud wrapped up in his black cloak. “Tomorrow, after sundown.”

“For how long?” Loki asked.

“For a few days at most,” Thor replied, his eyes flicking up and down Loki's body. “What happened to your hand?”

“How long is a few days?” Loki asked, unable to keep the grimace from his face. “One? Two? Three? What?”

“A few,” Thor answered obstinately. Loki laughed, the sound bitter, as he nodded at the typical response. “What?”

“Does it matter to you that I do not want them here?” Loki asked tightly, swallowing before he snapped, “Does it?”

Thor was staring at Loki, scowling with frustration and confusion. “Do you hear yourself? Whining like a child. You _know_ why they are coming. They could have the answer to how we save Asgard if we are unable to find the Tesseract. You _know_ this _.”_

Loki shook his head, turning away, covering his mouth with his hand. They would know, the Svartálfar would _know_ _._ They would smell madness on Loki, they would tell Thor, and they would take away the broken pieces and leave something behind that wasn't him, they would leave behind shadows and lies.

Loki pushed down the mania bubbling under his skin and dredged up a smile, which he aimed at Thor as he turned around, his voice wavering when he spoke. “I do understand.”

“Then what?” Thor asked, taking a tentative steps towards Loki. “What do you want?”

“That I not be here when they arrive,” Loki said. Thor opened his mouth to object or explain or both, but Loki cut him off. “I know you brought them here to help me, and they did, they took away whatever the mirror spell did to me. But I...I cannot endure the thought of being here with them. I can't.”

“You have nothing to fear, Loki,” Thor said, looking confused. He reached out and took Loki's hand in his. “I need you here, with me.”

“You have Sif,” Loki said.

“I need you both,” Thor said, his hand tight around Loki's fingers. “I want you both by my side.”

“They will come here and see me as the mad Jotun they had to _fix,_ the mad Jotun you keep at your side,” Loki said, his voice low so they wouldn't carry beyond the space between him and Thor. “I will not stand there and have _them_ look down their noses at us. So, let them come, and send me away. I'll return when they've gone.” __

Thor shook his head. “I cannot have you return to Asgard without me. You know people will talk. If you go to Jotunheim without me, Laufey will take issue.”

“I am not asking to go anywhere as far as Jotunheim or Asgard. I will remain on Midgard. Just not here. You talk to the Svartálfar. I will take the soldier and set about finding you your Tesseract,” Loki said, calming when he saw Thor's expression relax. “When the Dwarves are gone, I will return. Between us, we will save Asgard. You and I.”

“Loki,” Thor whispered, stepping forward and pulling him into an embrace. He held Loki tight for a moment, before pulling back to cup Loki's face in his hands. “When Asgard is safe, you will never have to endure the sight of the Svartálfar again.”

Loki nodded, plastering on a tight smile, trapped between Thor's hands and his too earnest gaze. “I will hold you to your word.”

“You should,” Thor said with a smile, one hand slipping to Loki's shoulder, the other sliding down Loki's arm to the book held in his blood-stained fingers. He looked sad when he said, “What happened?”

Loki shook his head, stepping forward and shamelessly pressing himself against Thor, burying his face against shoulders intent on holding the weight of all Asgard. Thor tensed for a moment, as if surprised. His hand came up slowly, hovering near Loki's head before it settled on the curve of his skull.

“Loki,” he whispered, a note of worry in his voice.

How could Loki put into words that he had seen himself and Thor across time and space, bound together by the fates, dancing a strange dance of push and pull until the end of them, and sometimes, the end of everything? How was he to tell Thor that the paths their lives took had been plotted out by the invisible hands of destiny?

“I broke Sif's mirror,” Loki told Thor. Thor pulled back, holding Loki by his shoulders. Loki mustered a smile. “A simple spell to extract Hydra's secrets, and I could not even do that right. Imagine the state of Asgard when I am done.”

“I told you. No mirror spells,” Thor said.

Loki shrugged his shoulders out of Thor's hold. “No _dangerous_ mirror spells, I believe was the instruction.”

Thor looked troubled, taking Loki's free hand. “When Laufey took you, Mother wanted to make sure you were looked after. She used a mirror spell. Father was...he was so angry. He broke every mirror in sight. He said...mirrors remember things we forget. They show us things we need not see. The smallest spells can find the most insignificant cracks and turn them into chasms. You play a dangerous game when you keep dabbling with this kind of magic.”

Loki thought of the impossible mirror in his chambers, and smiled at Thor, telling him, “You have already seen me fall into the chasm, and you have already pulled me out. Remember?”

Thor looked tired, not even opening his mouth to object or argue. He dropped Loki's hand, mustering a smile that sat ill on his face. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere close,” Loki answered. Offering Thor a playful smirk, he added, “Close enough for a tryst with the King of Asgard.”

“Is that so?” Thor's smile was genuine and bright. Loki shrugged, smiling. Thor took a deep breath, placing his large hand against Loki's chest, letting it curl into a fist. Sadness seeping into his expression, he quietly told Loki, “Do not go far.”

Thor pulled away, but Loki grabbed him by the sleeve, dipping his head to kiss Thor's knuckles. Thor's mouth lifted in a gentle smile that made his eyes go soft, but the gesture didn't quite erase all of his sadness. When Loki left, Thor looked the way all kings looked at the end of a reign; alone, tired and burdened. Loki didn't feel much different himself as he returned to his chambers, head feeling heavy, limbs drained. He felt even more exhausted the sound of Alexander's Pierce's voice reached his ears, along with Steve's.

“Again,” Steve said.

A few moments of silence followed, and then, “ _Wipe him. Start over._ ”

“Again,” Steve repeated.

“ _Wipe him_. _Start over._ ”

Loki walked into the middle of the room to find Steve standing in front of the hanging projection, watching a Hydra recording, the same part, over and over.

“Again,” Steve said, his voice losing composure with every repetition.

“ _Wipe h-_ ”

“Jarvis, stop the recording,” Loki commanded firmly. The projection blinked out of existence. Steve turned his watery, bloodshot gaze on Loki. “There is worse. You may not like what you see.”

Steve stared at Loki in silence for a moment. “Would you let that stop you?”

“No,” Loki said. “Not for a single moment.”

“I want to see. What they did to me. Why. I want to know what...who I am,” Steve said, the words mechanical, but his voice becoming raspy, as if his throat was closing up to stop him talking.

Loki walked a few steps until he was in sight of the mirror, looking at his black-haired reflection. Two more steps, and Steve also came into sight. Loki stared at the reflection, which was like a strange cooling balm. There he was, golden-haired, not scarred nor mangled by Hydra, there he was as he should have been. “You are Steven Grant Rogers. Your fate was to be a god amongst men, but Hydra took you and made you into a weapon.”

“Show me,” Steve said, whilst Loki marvelled at the man speaking the words in the mirror, looking nothing like Hydra's asset.

“Not here. You and I are taking a short trip to a less...distracting abode. We'll need a few things, of course. Furnishings mostly. I may have to arrange something later.” Loki turned his back on the mirror to find Steve frowning at him in confusion as Loki looked around at his surroundings. Everything they needed was right here in Stark's tower: comfortable bed, plush armchair, and an Asgardian trunk filled with clothes. "The question is how to take it all with us." Something was warbling in his head, something familiar, a watery bubble threatening to burst over Loki's mind. He turned his gaze towards the mirror, eyeing his reflection, and lifted up the hand still holding the book, seeing his reflection bring up something quite different, a black cane with a silver serpent head. 

Loki held out the book, in the manner of a magical staff. His reflection was grinning with mischief as he said, “You're right, I'm approaching this in a completely Midgardian manner. I'll just shrink the damn lot.”

Steve stared and Loki pointed his book at the middle of the room, whispered a few sweet words of Aesir magic and then he shrank the damn lot.


	10. Chapter 10

Time was a strange twisting turning serpent, spewing venom in every direction it slithered, burning holes through paper thin veils. Loki's life appeared mapped out in Midgard's past, in legends that knew of Odin and knew of Thor. They knew Loki as a trickster, as a silver-tongue. They knew things he had not known, because time could twist mid-flow and eat itself, swallow its own tail, so the future became someone's past and the past could become someone's future.

Loki flicked through the pages of the book he had found, mostly crawling with words, occasionally revealing a colourful plate of illustrations. For the most part, the tales were nothing new, if slightly warped. Laughable in places. Then the pages stopped at a full-page illustration inked in black and blue hues. A pale man hung in a dark cave, shackled in metal chains, blood trickling from his mangled mouth. Loki felt his body grow cold and shudder as he stared at the simple inscription beneath the illustration.

_Loki's Punishment_

He shut the book hard, turning his head to glance at the mirror to his right. In how many universes had the Midgardians closed this library, only for it to be discreetly occupied by one god, and one soldier? Loki knew of two so far: his, and the universe of the other Loki, the one who had run from Asgard, only to burn. The one who haunted Loki's mirror, that same mirror which Loki was glaring at this moment. If objects could do such a thing, then this mirror was mocking him for the madness which had made him arrange the furnishings in this room just like that of a library in another realm. 

The mirror, that had to be at the far end of the room, its back to two large windows. In front of it, up against the longer wall had to the bed, facing another high and wide stained-glass window which was casting a soft glow in the room, colouring the rays of the afternoon sun. The bed had to sit between the mirror and the door to the room. It made Loki feel calm, as if everything had slot into its place. He was feeling the strangest calm as he sat looking at the room, despite having read tales of cruel punishment. A buzzing in his brain had quietened now that he was here and Steve was downstairs in a room of his own. Loki looked at the floor and wondered if Steve felt it too. If he felt anything at all. 

Steve hadn't uttered a word about Loki's slights of hand as he stole Stark furniture, or about walking through Loki's warped mirror. Steve had watched with a combination of distrust and detachment as Loki waved one hand over the other, his armchair looking as though it simply dissolved, rather than being pushed into a tiny pocket of space, from where Loki would simply pull it back out. Loki had taken his bed too, and a trunk of clothes that now sat under the window opposite him. The bed he had generously gifted to Steve. For himself, he took Thor's bed. There would be no shortage of beds for Thor to sleep in. Whether it was wise or not, Loki had also taken one of Stark's many small datapads, filling it with Hydra's archive of crimes against their asset. 

When Loki left Steve in his room, the former assassin had been sitting at the end of his new bed, datapad in hand, eyes fixed on the screen, watching a life he did not seem to recognise. It had been a displeasing scene. Steve was supposed to look different here, golden and bright. Instead, he was the dark smudge in a room that was being flooded with sunlight. It reminded Loki, that no matter what lives had been lived in other realities by their counterparts, in this one, maybe they could only live what the fates had written for them. It was a thoroughly tedious thought, one Loki immediately elected to ignore.

Loki had returned to his own room, picking up the book he almost forgot he had. Looking at the cover now, tainted with flecks of his blood, he tried to understand why the stories didn't strike fear into him. They seemed familiar, as if he had read them before. What kind of stain had the mirror magic left on him exactly? Green in his hand, in the mirror the book appeared as a black cane held by a black-haired Loki. Loki's reflection seemed to smirk at him, twirling the cane through his fingers as Loki flipped the book in his hand. Loki tilted his head at the mirror, and though his reflection did the exact same thing, the movement almost appeared to mock and tease him.

“Show me what's real,” Loki muttered thoughtfully, before he repeated the words as an incantation, peering at the cracks that ran like streams across the mirror, asking for the mirror shine through all that tainted it. 

His reflection seemed to dart forward and Loki's vision turned white. He saw the cane with its silver serpent head, feeling it in his hand. He saw a mirror smashing across the floor. When he looked down, instead of broken pieces he saw his fingers entwined in soft golden hair, a mouth pressing against his ribs. The hair turned from gold to the colour of flames, and a pursed little mouth filled with mischief flashed him a smile. It morphed into one that was sardonic under sulky eyes, and then a man in a metal suit, red iron streaking across the sky, through which a circular shield spun, slicing the air, before a dark cloud consumed everything, and Loki was overcome by the smell of burning flesh. 

Loki came back to the present with a long, deep and loud intake of breath, one that left him gasping, his eyes wide and filled with burning tears. He had slipped from his armchair, his book sitting by the far wall, Loki on his knees with hands fisted against the floor. He was sweating, skin burning under his clothes, as if he'd been standing in the heat of a dying sun. When he turned his head towards the mirror, his reflection was mimicking the same position, but once again seemed to be no more than an observer. 

Loki scrabbled away from the mirror, before finding his feet and stumbling from the room, shakily regaining his equilibrium as he fled down the stairs and out of the front door. He all but threw himself out of the building and through the thicket of overgrown shrubbery, escaping out onto the open street, his breath coming more freely in the open air. His legs still felt watery, his mind overwhelmed by the avalanche of sensation, and he ended up falling onto the stone steps that led to the street from the library. His face in his hands, Loki sat and breathed himself back into the present, letting his skin cool under the caress of the afternoon breeze. 

These visions would drive him mad. Maybe Thor was right to call the Svartálfar. Maybe everything to do with the mirror spell was better excised from his mind. He looked at his surroundings, at himself seated on the ground, hiding in a Midgardian hovel. What was he doing trying to mirror the life of another? Was that Loki's life so exceptional that it was worth mimicking? He had burned from the inside out. He had Thor's undivided love and he had still run. He had Thor in his bed, and yet he had yearned, hiding the seed of want, carefully keeping it out of the sight of the sun, and the touch of the rain, because he knew it might bloom for a man who offered only friendship. 

What was there to envy, Loki wondered? Of course, even as he asked that question, his mind snapped him back to that moment on Asgard when Frigga held him tight, and Odin, the coward that he was, ordered his soldiers to snatch Loki from his enraged mother's arms. He felt proud of her, now that she was gone, remembering how it took four soldiers to pull her and keep her away, whilst another picked Loki up, carrying him kicking, screaming and crying, before handing him to a Jotun. They bundled him into furs as he fought with them, calling only for Frigga, because only she tried to stop them from taking him. 

A useless tear escaped from his eye and skimmed off the top of his cheek. Frigga was gone, and so was Loki's childhood. As for Laufey and Odin, they never saw the wrong of what happened that day. Odin believed he was doing the right thing by returning a Jotun prince and strengthening a treaty, and Laufey thought he was doing the right thing by reclaiming his child. No one thought for a moment that Loki had been sent into exile to live in a realm he knew nothing about, with strangers he feared, away from those he loved. Maybe Asgard deserved to fall. Maybe it deserved to fall on Jotunheim and they could end together. 

“Hey, it's you, you're back.”

Loki looked up at the Midgardian whose head perfectly blocked the sun, his suspicious scowl a welcome distraction. Loki slowly rose to his feet. “Joey.”

Joey nodded, his eyes peering past Loki into the library. “Are you, like, living in there or something?” 

“Something,” Loki answered. “Tell me, Joey, are you a busy man?”

Joey pulled a face, shrugging, and looking generally uncomfortable at the notion of what busy might mean. “Well, you know, I'm kind of between things.”

“What luck,” Loki said with a smile. “It just so happens I need a man who knows his way around these parts, to run errands and such, fetch supplies. I would pay you, of course, handsomely.”

Joey appeared remarkably focused, eyes shifting to the side for just a moment of private consultation, before returning to Loki. “What kind of errands?”

“Food, clothes, a few small items to brighten up the place,” Loki said calmly, peering straight at Joey, weaving the most minor of magic. “If I need anything else I'll let you know. I have a feeling you're a resourceful fellow.”

Joey blinked, looking as if he had some trouble keeping his eyes open. “Yeah. Sure. That sounds, that sounds okay. What do you need?”

Loki clapped a hand on Joey's shoulder and smiled. 

# ***

With Joey instructed and ushered away and the afternoon smoothing into evening, Loki made his way back up the path into the library. He stopped on its threshold to look up. In his visions this place had never loomed in such a dark and dangerous fashion. It made him think of a particularly angry Jotun, his ridges permanently fixed into a scowl. Loki walked in, stopping at the foot of the stairs. He couldn't help but swallow as he looked up, not wanting to see that mirror of his just yet. It was beginning to feel too much like being haunted. He changed direction and walked into the library instead, all of its books silently minding their own business where they sat on their dusty shelves.

Ignoring the muttering of muted tomes, Loki walked down the small corridor at the back of the library, going right to the end where Steve had taken up abode, just like _him,_ the one who wasn't as broken. The door was open and the lights were off. A cracked datapad lay on the floor, still paused on an image Loki recognised, leached of colour and featuring two young men grinning so hard they brought their own colour. Their laughing aside, there was a shyness about them, a young awkwardness. One of them was Steve, lit up with happiness, and the other, according to Stark's repositories, was Steve's childhood friend, a dark haired man with a bright smile. 

Loki picked up the datapad and walked further into the room, around the bed, until he could see the soldier hidden in the shadows of the far corner. He was sitting there with his legs drawn up, pink sore looking eyes fixed somewhere very far away. Loki watched him, quietly asking, “Familiar?” 

Steve shook his head slowly, as if time had slowed him down inside and out. He looked too haunted for his answer to be true. “I don't remember.” 

“He was your friend. James Barnes,” Loki said. “You knew him before Hydra. When you were Captain America.” 

Steve's face morphed into a strange terrified grimace, his hands curling into fists by his sides. Loki took a few careful steps, slowly crouching down in front of Steve. He reached out even slower, gently covering Steve's flesh hand with his own until Steve fixed his watery blue eyes on Loki.

“You feel confused. You are unsure of whom you can trust,” Loki said softly. Steve was watching him with rapt attention, almost frozen. “You are free of Hydra, but…freedom is almost a burden, is it not? Hydra’s poisons are leaving your body and your mind. You are beginning to see the world with renewed clarity. With that clarity will come the desire to serve no one, even if it means being adrift in all this chaos. And I, even though I liberated you from Hydra, I will be compelled to remove myself from your path.”

“Why?” Steve asked, eyes shouting his distrust even if his words didn't.

“I am a god,” Loki said firmly. “I would not stoop to the level of your Midgardian masters. I would have you stand by my side because you wish it, because you choose it. You want it. Not because I am owed loyalty.”

Steve looked away, his bright eyes a little wild, his whole body tense, hiding somewhere beyond Loki’s reach.

“You do not realise it yet, but you are in a charmed position,” Loki said. He waited for Steve to turn back, smiling at him when he did. “You have a god at your disposal, one who will help you tear off the remaining heads of the beast that has slighted you."

“Why?” Steve whispered, his frown relaxing to leave his gaze dead. This time his question seemed mechanical and without any real heat.

“Because I can,” Loki said, his gaze travelling across Steve’s face until the soldier willingly began to track Loki’s eyes. “Because I want to.”

Steve continued his silent observation of Loki. He seemed so lost, so empty, Loki wondered if Steve could summon in this moment even an ounce of the strength he possessed.

“Do you not wish to bring them to their knees?” Loki murmured, his gaze roaming over Steve, tracing all the ways he had been tainted by Hydra’s touch; those bruised looking eyes, the sharp angles of his flushed face. “Look how they have mangled you. There is so much strength within you. You were to be a god amongst men, and they turned you into a slave. _This_ was not meant to be your fate.”

Loki let go of Steve's hand and held up the datapad, still showing two men paused in a moment of happiness, Steve emanating light and happiness. Steve stared at the screen, taking the datapad from Loki, looking hypnotised. Metal fingers smoothed over the image of the dark-haired man, catching against the cracks of the screen. Steve placed the datapad next to him on the floor, blinking at it quietly, before smashing his metal fist down once, killing the device instantly. 

“Alexander Pierce was smart,” Loki said. “He knew once he possessed the Tesseract, its power would allow him to fulfil his ambitions, whether he knew the full potential of the cube or not. He would orchestrate the deaths of precious Midgardian heroes, blame the Asgardians, and become a hero in his own right. And you, you would be the weapon propped on Asgardian shoulders. The arrogance. What fools he must have taken us for.”

Steve remained impassive, his eyes standing out brightly against the rest of his shadowed figure. How Loki wanted to see that mouth tip up into a smile he had seen through the mirror, one corner lifting, head ducking. The fingers of Loki's hands itched, flexed, and warmed. He tried not to think hard about what it was they craved. Instead, he stood up, his gaze remaining on Steve. Steve continued staring ahead, hiding inside himself for now. 

“You need time to adjust. Time to feel the release of Hydra's claws,” Loki said. When Steve predictably didn't respond, Loki nodded and turned to leave.

He was on the threshold of the room when Steve asked, “Do you have a mission for me?”

Loki came to a stop, a smile spreading on his face. He turned on his heel. “We find the Tesseract. I save my realm from destruction, you save yours people from Hydra. It's all very heroic actually.”

Steve's eyes slid to the side, and Loki could almost see him turning over every word, inspecting for clues. He was frowning, mouth opening but not uttering, until he grimaced and pushed the words out. “Save them from Hydra.”

“Do you think you can do that? Go against those whose orders you have followed?” Steve looked up at Loki, his eyes sharp and clear, shining a bit too bright in the dark. “If you cannot find it in yourself to say yes, perhaps you have not seen enough of what they did to you.”

“Yes,” Steve said, the word coming out in a hushed quick breath, as if it had been punched out of his chest. He swallowed and repeated more firmly, “Yes.”

“To new alliances then,” Loki said. Steve returned to his vacant staring, sinking further into the evening shadows. Loki nodded, accepting the silence as his dismissal and leaving the soldier with his private demons.

Not that he wanted to leave Steve's side. It was with weariness and perhaps a little fear that he climbed the steps towards his room and that taunting mirror within. It welcomed him back with its deceptive reflections. Loki stopped in front of it with a sigh, lifting his hand to smooth back hair he knew was not black, looking into eyes that he knew weren't so green. Thor would have this mirror blasted into mist if he knew the things Loki was seeing. 

Thor. 

He was missing Thor already, missing the sight, sound and scent of him. Loki swallowed, putting his hand up against the mirror to cover a portion of spider web cracks, allowing him to see a triangular portion of mirror that wasn't ruined by a break. He looked into it, ignoring the green gaze that looked back, seeking out the reflective surfaces of the tower to get a glimpse of Thor. A glimpse was all he needed. 

_Show me, the heir and son of Asgard._

“Loki!” Thor raged, pressing his hands against the mirror, frantically looking right at Loki, his yellow hair falling around his shoulders, red cape twisting behind him. When he punched against the glass, Loki jumped back in wide-eyed shock, the mirror returning to its usual lie. After a moment to gather himself, he pressed his hand against the mirror again, but saw nothing other than his own wildly searching expression. 

“Well,” he said breathlessly. “That was interesting.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Loki couldn't sleep all night. He knew his wakefulness would eventually feed right back into the wheels of madness, prompting the strings of other realities to unravel from their spools, helping them to tangle around his mind, but the red of Thor’s cloak had soaked his vision, and sitting in the dark of his room, it was all he could think of through a night which seemed to move as slow as syrup, the whole library steeped in silence, a soldier searching for his memories in one corner, a god drowning in the memories of others in another. It seemed to Loki that fate was playing an incredibly cruel trick.

Loki turned his gaze in the direction of the mirror. He could still see Thor in his mind's eye, smashing his fists against the glass as if he were trapped on the other side, screaming for Loki. The thought made Loki’s gut twist. How many times had Loki wanted just that? For Thor to be trapped against his will, just like all those years Loki had been kept on Jotunheim. How he had wished the most cherished son of Asgard could know what it was to be cast away and kept prisoner. How it had pained Loki to know he was to return to the embrace of Asgard as consort to his childhood playmate, when all he had wanted was a brother.

They had used Frigga's death as the thread with which to sew him back into the fabric of Asgard. Loki had suspected for some time that change was afoot. Laufey could see Loki had grown from child to man, a man who was working hard to extend the use of his magic. It hadn't flourished under Jotun tutelage, but Loki had found a way to nurture it all by himself, and one day he would use it to escape Jotunheim, despite Laufey having cunningly denied him mirrors, keeping the light low where it might inspire reflection. Laufey knew that Loki was now simply biding his time. So they both waited to see who would make the first move, and in the end it was Loki's Frost Giant father.

Peering into the mirror, which despite the dark still reflected stolen bits of light, Loki recalled the day Laufey had come to him in a mood that seemed sombre even for his rocky features. He announced they were to leave for Asgard. The Jotuns only visited Asgard to talk treaties, always returning bitter and furious, and Loki had never been required, or invited. So when Laufey stood before him telling him to prepare for Asgard, Loki immediately knew something was wrong, and he knew it was something to do with his mother, after all, she had been the only one who attempted to cling to him as he was ripped away.

“Frigga has passed,” Laufey told him simply. Loki felt numbness creep all the way from his fingers, up his arms and across his chest. The book he held in his hands was in danger of slipping and falling. “Odin asks that we attend to observe her funeral rites.”

“Why?” Loki asked somewhat breathlessly, keeping his back to Laufey, his heart hammering in his chest as his panicked eyes travelling across the spines of books on the shelf before him. “Since when do you care about what Odin asks?”

“Frigga was your mother once,” Laufey said.

“Oh,” Loki said with forced calm. “I was under the impression that she could not be my mother because I had a Jotun mother. Is that not what you told me the countless times I asked for her?”

Laufey was silent and somehow it was worse than when he chastised Loki for failing to embrace the Jotun way of life. Finally, all Laufey had to offer was, “The past cannot be changed, Loki. What is done is done.”

“What is done is done,” Loki murmured, grimacing at the inadequate answer as Laufey left him alone with his grief. He felt hollow, staring ahead blankly. Ornaments around the room shook with Loki's magic as it strained against Jotun runes.

Days later they went to Asgard, joining others in observing Frigga's funeral rites alongside the Asgardians. Loki might not have recognised Thor if not for his part in the rituals. He stood to the side of Odin, a dark cloud, his expression unreadable, blue eyes clouded with grief. It was when Sif whispered something in his ear that Thor looked across the grand hall at Loki. A look of surprise passed across his features before he gave Loki a single nod, which Loki gave back in kind. The last they had seen each other, they had both been children, Loki being taken to Jotunheim, Thor kept away where he couldn't bear witness. Now it seemed they were strangers.

The Jotuns behaved impeccably under the watchful eye of guards who stood at a respectable distance by Asgard's standards. Thor, nor Odin, cast further glances at Loki. These came from other curious people in attendance. Loki saw surprise, shock, disgust, the whole range of Jotun inspired emotions. By the end he was ready to flee, but as the evening banquet began, Loki was ushered away to see Odin, the All-Father sitting atop his throne, his one eye trained on Loki. When Loki stopped before him, Odin made a humming noise. “I do not know why I expected to see a child.”

Loki swallowed. “That is what I was when you exiled me from Asgard.”

“Exiled,” Odin echoed, the sound coming from deep within his chest. “That is how it must seem to you.”

Loki evaded Odin's gaze and stared at the floor through blurred vision. There was no argument to be had here. The truth was that the Jotuns had taken him, and the Asgardians had put up no fight, _and_ it had felt like an exile.

Odin descended the steps from his throne to stop before Loki, laying a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder. “You honour us all by being here.”

“I do not come here to honour anyone.” Loki looked up to vacantly blink at Odin. “I am here to grieve for my mother.”

Odin seemed to fall into a momentary trance before his mouth twitched up into a sad smile. He nodded slowly, his meaty hand cupping the back of Loki's neck, squeezing it before he let go. He tiredly returned to his throne and sat down, looking old and tired. “There will be time for recriminations. For now, we will grieve together.”

Loki stared at Odin, wanting to utter a scathing remark that might deepen the All-Father's pain. Nothing came to mind. Unlike his mother, it seemed he had no gift for words. The guards led him back out towards the festivities, away from from Odin. Thor was waiting in the hall outside, looking grave and burdened. He nodded to the guards who dutifully removed themselves from the hallway, leaving Loki and Thor alone with each other.

“It has been too long,” Thor said, his voice so Asgardian deep, Loki would have laughed if this had been any other day.

“A lifetime,” Loki said quietly. They held each other's gaze in silence for a moment, perhaps silently working up the courage to voice unpleasant thoughts. Loki looked around at the golden splendour surrounding him, sighing. “What happened, Thor? Who would dare harm her in Asgard?”

“Mercenaries,” Thor said, anger flickering sharp in blue eyes. “They were looking for something, that is all we know as yet. But I will find the perpetrators behind this. I will find them and I will end them.”

“I...if I can do anything,” Loki said quietly. “ _Anything_.”

Thor was staring down the length of the hall, at the too muted banquet beyond. “Laufey will not approve of your making such promises.”

“Damn, Laufey,” Loki said, his voice wavering. “She was my mother.”

Thor was staring at Loki as if he was finally seeing him. “Is that why you refused to see her all the times she went to Jotunheim?”

Loki's heart sank at the thought of Frigga returning to Asgard thinking he had not wanted to see her, when the truth was entirely different. He had never known she'd come to see him. How could he have? “Did she believe it? Did she believe I refused to see her?”

Thor swallowed, shaking his head, his voice thick when he spoke. “Not once.”

“Then she was better than you, Odinson,” Loki said, before he turned his back on Thor and returned to the banquet, taking a place near Laufey, refusing to look at Jotuns and Asgardians alike, and finally returning to Jotunheim in twisted dark silence.

Laufey came to see Loki in the dead of that same night. He stood just inside the threshold of Loki's chamber, leaving Loki secluded in his spot by the fiery hearth. It took a moment for Loki to realise that Laufey was waiting for him to speak. Looking deep into the fire, Loki said, “How many times did you turn her away?”

“As many times as it took for her to understand that you were not her son,” Laufey said quietly. Loki heard no remorse in those words, none at all.

Loki's eyes burned with tears, but he smiled and said, “You failed. Even in death, she has more of a son in me than you ever will.”

“Then it will please you to know that Odin asks you return to Asgard, as Frigga desired,” Laufey said. “And I have agreed it.”

Loki rose from his armchair, slowly walking half way across the chamber. “What?”

“It was her wish that you might return one day,” Laufey said, without any indication that such a wish meant anything to him. “Odin wants to grant her last wish, so she might be at peace.”

“What do you care of her last wish?” Loki asked. He smiled when it dawned on him then, why Laufey would care about anything. “Tell me, what bargain have you made with All-Father to alleviate him of his guilt?”

“Odin seeks an alliance with Jotunheim,” Laufey said calmly. “He has proposed a peace treaty. I have agreed to peace, on the condition that we will have a presence in the house of Odin, one who will stand beside the future king to show the Asgardians that we are their equal. I have proposed a marital alliance between you and Thor.”

Loki stared with wide eyes, shaking his head, his voice low as he told Laufey, “I do not accept this proposal. Find another puppet.”

“If you refuse, you condemn yourself to imprisonment for the rest of your life,” Laufey said. His lip seemed to twist in a sneer as he asked, “Is it not better you return to the realm over which you have shed so many tears?”

“Imprisonment?” Loki yelled. “What has my life been on Jotunheim _but_ imprisonment?”

“Charmed,” Laufey growled. “You have been, for my sake, tolerated. But should you turn your back now on your Jotun brothers and sisters, I will not be able to protect you. You have two choices. Return to Asgard as your mother wished, or be sent to a place where neither of your fathers will be able to help you.”

“You can't...” Loki said, trailing when he realised that he had no way of knowing if Laufey was bluffing. “You would send me from one prison to another?”

Laufey's red-eyed stare pinned Loki to the spot where he stood, glaring in anger. “Odin had a purpose for you. To raise you as his own, warp your mind, and _use_ you to unite these realms. He would put an Asgardian on the Jotun throne through you. I give to you Jotunheim _and_ Asgard. Odin thinks he has an ally in you, a boy who loved his Asgardian mother, and hates his Jotun father. But you hate us all, don't you? So go, I release you from this prison. Either there will be peace, or you will bring us all to our knees. And if these realms fall, then perhaps it is because it is what we all deserve.”

Heated tears sprung to Loki's eyes as he listened unblinking. He scraped up enough of a voice to say. “And what does my new gaoler think of this? Does Thor know he is about to be shackled to a Jotun cast off?”

“He will do as his father says,” Laufey answered. “He will do his duty for Asgard.”

Loki turned his back on Laufey. “Some fathers truly do not deserve their sons.”

Loki remembered wishing he could make them all feel what he had felt. He wished he could trap them, cage them. I would have imprisoned them all, he thought, let them see me from behind the wall of a glass prison, feeling all the rage I have felt. Lock Thor away from Odin perhaps. When he closed his eyes, Loki saw the countless punishments suffered by countless Thors, at the hands of countless Lokis. He saw their deepest darkest desire: Thor kneeling in shackles, head bowed in defeat before Loki, the king of Asgard. Loki’s eyes stung and watered when he opened them, a tight knot in his throat feeling as if it might choke him. No, he thought, somewhere out there I burned for him, I burned so he wouldn’t have to.

I’m still burning.

Loki felt heartsick by dawn. He wanted to smash every mirror in existence and be done with magic. Damn it, but he wanted Thor. He remained sour into the morning, until Joey’s arrival brought with him clothes, food, and other amenities. Amenities that ran on the Midgardian magic of wiring. Setting up computers with stolen energy and borrowed connections was as easy as spying through mirrors from one realm to another, if not easier, but Loki still wondered for a moment what kind of taint was carried in the wires, what sights and sounds became embedded in plastic and copper. He wondered how much of a person could become trapped in the small cell phone devices Midgardians kept so close.

Joey brought Loki a device all of his own. It was compact, slim, and light, shining like a smoothed jewel. He took to it immediately, though it took a while for Loki to get through to Thor, mostly because he had to go through several idiots before the right idiot answered Loki’s call properly. When Loki finally saw Thor on the small screen, he was as he should have been, dark-haired and smiling, looking thoroughly amused as he peered into the screen held up for him. “I see you have taken to the Midgardian way.”

“Well, runes are just so last century,” Loki said, leaning back in a chair behind a wooden desk. He had been exploring a room that must have been for the library's workers once, still littered with books and boxes, papers and machines, and taken a shine to its chaos.

Loki slowly swivelled from side to side as he peered at the screen of the phone, Thor letting out a laugh and shaking his head. “You seem in good spirits.”

“I am now,” Loki told Thor quietly, cursing himself for the way he felt his mask shift with the admission. Thor frowned slightly, before smiling a little. Loki arched a brow. “What?”

“I had a strange dream last night. I dreamed that my consort was pining for me. Though he would never admit such a thing,” Thor said. Loki stared at him, wondered if mirrors and dreams had somehow mixed last night, wondered if the Svartálfar were wheedling their way into territory that did not belong to them. “Loki? _Loki_.”

Loki blinked, realising Thor was now looking concerned. “What?”

“Is something the matter?” Thor asked, scowling at him with suspicion. Loki shook his head, a little too quick, and a little too hard. Thor took a breath, looked off to the side at whoever was with him, and then back at Loki. “I want you to return to me.”

“Nothing is the matter, Thor,” Loki said tiredly. He allowed himself a small smile and said, “other than the pining.”

“Then come home,” Thor coaxed. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I will do my utmost to end your pining.”

Loki felt a flare of warmth somewhere in his chest. It spread slow and sweet in every direction. Before it could reach any problematic destination, Loki said, “But it's not home, is it? In fact, it's far from home, and probably too full of Dwarves for my liking.”

Thor sighed, looking off to the side again, nodding impatiently at someone. Before he could make his excuses and leave, Loki said, “Enough idle chat. Things to do. Keep me in your thoughts, won't you?”

Irritation speckled Thor's forehead, but he nodded and said. “I have no choice but to keep you in my thoughts.”

“Why, that almost sounded like a reprimand. I'll have to enjoy that later.”

Thor grinned at him, pleased, before looking up sullenly at someone beyond the screen, rolling his eyes. This time Loki grinned, before tilting his head in a bow of sorts and disconnecting. He pocketed the phone, and picked up his little green tome which he couldn't stop carrying with him, full of its little despicable tales of gods and monsters, the two often the one and the same. Joey had deposited the goods requested and departed, leaving the library with its two occupants, one of whom was in the next room and making no sound at all. Loki arched a brow at the wall and then found himself drifting out of one room, and into the next, coming to a dead stop when he saw Steve.

Steve was standing in the middle of his room staring at his Hydra uniform which lay spread out like a deflated corpse on his bed. Steve was clutching something black in his hand, a hooded sweater, and wearing black... _jeans_ Joey had called them. His feet and top half were bare, and his face looked wet. Loki could smell soap. Steve must have made use of the poor facilities, which were basic at best. Not that Loki's mind stayed on the matter long, not with those scars on display. The scarring where the metal limb joined flesh was appalling. Hydra, it seemed, had taken little pride in their work. Unless, the pain and the scars were part of their plan.

Loki looked away, unable to take pleasure in what lay beyond the arm. He looked at the discarded uniform instead. “A freed prisoner has no need of his shackles. I would suggest you dispose of it. In fact, allow me.”

Loki had taken two steps and reached out when Steve's flesh hand slapped around Loki's wrist, surprisingly tight. Loki stared at the fingers gripping him, and then at Steve, whose gaze was icy and filled with unmasked warning. Not to be bested, Loki whipped out a blade and pressed it in close to Steve's throat, close enough to sting, if not hurt. Definitely close enough to kill.

“Let's keep this cordial, Steven. We are not enemies. Not yet, anyway,” Loki said smoothly. They stayed deadlocked for a moment, before it seemed they both shoved away from each other at the same time. Loki concealed his knife and nodded to Steve. “Keep it, by all means. In fact, now that I think of it, you were much more agreeable inside that uniform.”

“What do you want from me?” Steve said, his words like heavy rocks being dragged across gravel. He was looking around the room, mouth opening but not speaking. Loki could practically see him searching for sense, for meaning.

Loki opened his mouth to lie, to say something flippant, to hide his wish that this Steve Rogers could simply just morph into the one from Loki's visions. He couldn't do it, not with the tortured look in Steve's eyes. “I simply want to help you.”

“Help me?” Steve half laughed. His next question came out choked, and lacking adequate breath. “ _Why?_ Why do you _care_?”

“I...” Loki said, before his breath caught and he had to swallow. Loki stepped towards Steve, pulling away the sweater and holding out his hand, palm up. “Your hand.”

Steve looked at Loki's hand as if it might explode, before he tentatively brought his own up, frowning as if he didn't understand his own actions. Loki turned it palm down, draping part of the sweater sleeve over it before he touched the middle of Steve's hand, pressing the tip of his finger down firmly.

“When we move across the universe, we move according to the dictates of time and space. It is, as I understand, the natural way to move. However...”

Steve frowned at Loki's finger on top of his hand, the way it slowly pulled on the fabric, pulling it back. He quietly murmured, “You move it around you.”

“Yes. There is, however, a drawback.” Steve was frowning at his hand, before his metal fingers drifted towards uncovered skin, from where the material had pulled away. He looked at it and then at Loki. Loki swallowed, nodding. “Pull on the fabric of time and space and it's likely you're pulling it away from somewhere else, lifting the veil, however momentarily it might be, between realities.”

Loki handed Steve's shirt back to him. “I have a gift. I can see across realms without moving from where I sit, past the veils where one must never look. Past realms, and into other realities. Realities where you and I exist in other guises. Realities where our paths cross again and again. Sometimes as foes. Sometimes as friends. You ask why I care. I don't. You are a stranger to me. But he does, another me who knows another you. He cares deeply, and though I have tried, I cannot untangle his desires from my own. So...I am compelled to care.”

“You want to help me because another you and another me are friends in another reality,” Steve said, scowling fiercely at Loki. When Loki had no response, Steve looked away. The smile on his face appeared slowly, like a pink welt rising in front of Loki's eyes. It looked just as painful. His voice was rough when he said, “Okay.”

Loki stared, shaking his head slightly at the response. “I have revealed to you something that even I cannot quite understand, and that is all you have to say?”

“There's a lot that doesn't make sense to me right now.” Steve looked at the garment gripped in his hand, fingers clenching for a moment before he finally pulled it on, looking the most human he had looked since Loki had met him. “One more thing isn't going to make a hell of a difference.”

“No. I suppose not,” Loki said, keeping to himself the thought that Steve's response was very much _him,_ the Steve Rogers who lived in Loki's stolen memories.

Steve aimed a delightfully square-jawed look of determination at Loki, one that immediately made Loki smile. “So. Where do we start?”

Loki angled his head and arched a brow at Steve's still bare feet, before looking up at him. “Well, I thought once you'd finished dressing we might have some breakfast. After that, maybe blow up something belonging to Hydra?”

Steve picked up a pair of new black boots that were sitting by his bed, telling Loki, “Sounds like a plan.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sitting in a booth by the window of a diner Loki knew well, yet didn't know at all, he kept one eye on the world outside, the other on Steve Rogers, letting the surroundings wash over him like cool water on a hot day. Steve’s gaze, unlike Loki’s, had no fixed points. Sometimes it roamed across the hustle and bustle inside the diner, and other times it pinned down every moving object on the street outside with an intense glare. Sometimes there was confusion in his eyes, as if he was caught between waking and dreaming, and other times there was a painful clarity that looked like recognition. Either way, it unsettled Loki to see Steve endlessly drowning and surfacing in the dark waters of his own memories.

At least when the food came, there was something to focus on. Steve first approached his plate with suspicion, followed by a few tentative pokes with his fork. When the food didn’t bite back, he ate so quickly Loki thought he might choke. The enthusiasm made Loki smile only until he realised that the enthusiasm was hunger and nothing about Steve’s honed body suggested he had ever eaten for pleasure. Loki imagined a machine would only have ever been given fuel, and he wondered when Steve had last tasted something good, something indulgent. When Steve finished, Loki pushed his barely finished plate forward. Steve frowned at it, and then at Loki, before making a quick meal of it too. Loki sipped on his black bitter coffee as Steve swallowed the last bite and sat back, blinking at his plate.

“I want you to look at the data extraction,” Loki said, offering the passing waitress a pleasant smile. “See if something stands out. Something we can turn into a nice big bang. I need to know which trees will make the loudest noise when they fall.”

“I’m not sure they get much bigger than Alexander Pierce,” Steve said. He looked as if he was staring at the window, but Loki realised he was entranced by his own reflection. Reflections, Loki thought, troublesome things.

“Indeed. I'm sure when his machinations are revealed to the Midgardians, it'll be more like a forest falling,” Loki said. “For now though, we'll just leave Hydra to ponder his disappearance. Though his visits to the tower would make interesting viewing, the Asgardians would be accused of trickery, Thor has made certain that we are not to be trusted.”

“And you want to be trusted,” Steve said, still fixated on the window, his blue eyes greedily drinking up all the sun. There was colour in his cheeks. Soon his golden hair might grow, the stubble might be shaved clean.

Loki smiled and said, “The irony is not lost on me.”

“How is that going to help find the Tesseract?” Steve asked, finally turning his gaze on Loki.

“We take down one beast to lure another. When what is left of the Avengers see us standing over Hydra carcasses, our hands extended in friendship, they will lead us to the Tesseract themselves.”

“Good plan,” Steve said, his gaze having drifted to a woman with dark hair and red lips. He seemed stuck on her for a moment, before he turned his attention back to Loki. “Just one flaw.”

Loki smiled. “ _Just_ one? Wonderful.”

“The Avengers don’t care about Hydra right now,” Steve said. Loki frowned in question. “They’re busy with your soldiers.”

“Of course,” Loki said, glancing at a television behind the diner counter. More scenes of mayhem, Jotuns and Asgardians wreaking havoc. “They think we killed Captain America and the Iron Man.”

Steve was looking at his plate, fingers of one hand slowly moving to adjust the way his cutlery was sitting on his plate. A frown dented his forehead momentarily and then was gone. When he looked back up, he was in the present again. “Captain America. He was my mission.”

Loki watched as Steve went back to staring out of the window. Something was on his mind, and not just the missed opportunity to complete a mission. “He was a thorn in Hydra's side. You were their best weapon. Makes sense.”

Steve frowned. “They didn't have to. They took him out without my help.”

Loki pulled a variety of questioning and confused faces. “That's important because?”

Steve looked back at Loki, but his gaze said he was looking at someone else as he murmured, “Pierce was adamant that it had to be me. I had to be the one to stop him.”

Loki looked around the diner. They were seated in a quiet spot, but even so, who knew what ears might be listening? Returning his gaze to Steve, he said, “It strikes me that Alexander Pierce had just the amount of arrogance required to have Captain America kill Captain America.”

Steve's jaw clenched, and the blue of his eyes seemed to turn hard and icy. If Loki took a moment to admire the strong lines of anger and resentment, looking at Steve, no one would have blamed him.

“You fellas want a refill?” A smiling waitress sidled up to the table with coffee pot in hand. Her gaze lingered a little longer on Steve than Loki, forehead rippling with a second of curiosity.

“No. Thank you, Dana,” Loki answered politely, eyes moving from her name tag to the television behind her. It looked as though more trouble was afoot near the tower. “I think it's time we made a move.”

Dana smiled, following Loki's gaze and then shaking her head, sighing. “Crazy huh? Just when everyone's gotten used to people flying around with capes and metal suits, mutants with super powers, what do we get? Big angry aliens smashing up the city. And that's on top of what regular people are doing to each other on a daily basis.” Dana turned back to Loki with an arched brow. “You know what, think I might take the day off tomorrow. If there's a tomorrow.”

With that, Dana winked and walked off, Loki grinning in the wake of her departure. He looked at Steve and said, “You know, if the Avengers happen to be recruiting, I think I might have a recommendation.”

Steve was impassive, so Loki grinned and laughed for both of them. They left the diner, Loki passing a small bag of bagels to Steve, who clutched it in one hand all the way through a companionably silent walk home. Loki felt a strange calm that made no sense as they walked side by side. His skin and bones seemed to remember having done this before, though his mind knew better. Deja vu the Midgardians called it, though Loki knew it was simply the vibration of other realities, two strings on an instrument being strummed and resonating together. Who knew in how many realities right now Steve and Loki were walking side by side, strumming multiple universes in the process.

Loki glanced at Steve as they walked into the library, wondering if Steve felt it too, the reverberation of a moment already played out, playing out. It was hard to see what Steve was feeling, his expression unreadable as he headed straight for the abandoned work room. Joey had done well, bringing all Loki had asked for, and Steve immediately went to work setting up a TV screen, and computers, looking at Loki with expectation when the matter of power and connection came up.

“Wires,” Loki had murmured, playing with the air and making it crackle. “Primitive.”

A laptop switched on, Steve watching the screen filling up with information by itself. A moment later, the TV screen came on, displaying images not only from inside Stark Tower, but also the Hydra hideout Loki had visited in the guise of Pierce. Steve frowned at Loki in question.

“Realms contain masses of unseen conduits that can be used for a manner of things. In this case, I am...borrowing a few amenities from our good neighbours,” Loki said with a shrug. Steve arched a brow, prompting Loki to roll his eyes and admit, “Fine, siphoning might be a more appropriate term.”

Steve's frown eased and Loki thought he caught what looked like surprise, that perhaps his companion was a little impressed. That soon gave way to a flinty sharp look as a Hydra operative stalked into view.

“Agent Rumlow,” Loki said quietly, approaching the screen. Rumlow moved with the arrogance of an Asgardian fat-head. “Useful?”

Steve's gaze was turned inward, forehead dented with concentration. Loki watched Steve with a frown, the soldier frozen in place, bright eyes digging at something important. Loki took a step towards him. “What is it?”

“I hope I get to see his face,” Steve murmured. Loki opened his mouth to question, but Steve was looking at him now, smoothing out the memory he had found. “They were dragging me out of the chair. Rumlow said, _I hope I get to see his face_.”

“Whose face?” Loki asked.

“Captain America,” Steve said, eyes roaming over a scene Loki wasn't privy too. “The shield, I knew it. Pierce said the man with the shield, my mission was to stop him. To fix things. Take back the shield.”

Loki stared, momentarily taken aback. Then he smiled, unable to quite quell the admiration he felt for how well Pierce moved his pawns. “And become Hydra's very own Captain America.”

Steve swallowed, jaw clenching. “I asked them about the man with the shield. They put me in the chair. But I remember. I remember what he said.”

Loki nodded, careful and still with his movements. Steve had that cornered animal look about him. “ _I hope I get to see his face_. Why? What's so special about his face?”

Steve's gaze returned the computer screen they had been viewing. Loki opted to watch Steve instead of the screen for a while, the identity of Captain America beginning to scratch the back of his mind hard now. Good enough to carry the shield, it seemed, but not enough to divulge his identity. No doubt those fine people at SHIELD would be able to lay the mystery bare. Just as Loki pondered the first move towards SHIELD, Steve stepped towards the computer, something attracting his interest. Loki saw a man being dragged into a room, and stepped closer too, tilting his head to watch the man being thrown onto a chair, where he had to be held up by two men. His hair was a dirty yellow, and a gash high on the bridge of his nose had left his face bloody, features obscured.

“I know him.” Loki scowled, straightening up. Steve looked at Loki and then back at the screen, shaking his head when he couldn't identify the man. The familiar stranger looked up at Rumlow and grinned at his own quip, receiving a punch to the gut for his efforts. That grin, it made the memories rush at Loki, of a man with sharp aim, and dry tone.

Loki turned to Steve, looking at him, but seeing a flurry of images. The Avenger was hidden in the corners of Loki's visions. Sometimes friend, sometimes foe. Always accurate in his aim. Loki's eyes widened as he tried to catch too quick thoughts, flashes of other worlds, of himself, of the Avenger.

The cube.

Bright and blue as the eyes of an Avenger under a spell.

_you have heart_

Loki blinked at the screen where the Avenger received another blow, this one leaving him hanging off to the side, limp like a rag doll. Loki quietly murmured his realisation. “The archer.”

Steve jerked his head, a sign that he unlike Loki did not recognise the man who looked extremely put out. What Steve did was point, the tip of his metal finger tapping against the screen, remarking, “Two-way mirror.”

Loki stared at Steve, before smiling in amusement. It seemed very like Steve Rogers to take no time at all in accepting gods, monsters, mirrors as modes of transport.

# ***

There were two options. The first was to return to the Hydra lair in the guise of Alexander Pierce, find out a little more from his loyal little minions. The more appealing option was to steal the Avenger from right under their noses, leaving them with an empty holding room, watching the shock on their faces from afar. For the sake of mystery, the timing would have to be perfect. It was why Loki was standing in front of his mirror, tracing the cracks with his eyes. His reflection was still wrong, deceptive. The thought of using it as a portal was almost unnerving.

“No matter,” Loki muttered. “If not one mirror, then another.”

There was a mirror downstairs in a small room for ablutions, screwed into the wall behind a wash basin. It was more than sufficient for Loki's needs. He passed the work room on the way to it, seeing Steve still dutifully watching the laptop screen. He almost looked like a machine that had been powered down, unmoving for the moment, but bound to spring to action without notice. Loki walked on with a smirk.

In front of the mirror, he was surprised by his own reflection, fair-haired and without Jotun markings and colour. Loki smoothed his fingers through hair which now seemed too buoyant and bright. Shouldn't his eyes have reflected a little green? His skin seemed too warm, too full of blood and not ice. Loki watched a glamour of his casting ripple across him, the colour of his hair darkening to black, his skin leeching of colour until it was an almost blue-tinged pale. The green bloomed and mixed with the blue of his eyes.

“Better,” Loki whispered quietly. “Much better.”

Loki stared at himself until his reflection began to fade and the mirror before him darkened and he saw right through it into a small interrogation room. The Avenger was slumped forward in a chair facing the two-way mirror, left under the watch of a single guard on the inside of the door. The room was dark and grim, the light fixture at odds by being strangely too bright. Loki prodded the light fixture with a look and a second later it flickered and buzzed, the guard looking up at it with a scowl. Loki prodded it a few more times before Rumlow returned, nodding to the guard who dutifully left, rather quickly.

Rumlow's prisoner looked slowly towards the door where Rumlow stood. Rumlow gave him a hard look. “You could have made this easier on yourself.”

The man in the chair smiled tiredly, mutely blinking at Rumlow. When he finally answered, it was with a sluggish shrug. “Where's the fun in that?”

Rumlow walked into the middle room, half-obscuring the Avenger. “For you? Nowhere.”

Rumlow swung his fist down hard, catching the Avenger's jaw and snapping his head to the side. Loki rolled his eyes, wanting to tell Rumlow that unconscious men seldom had interesting things to say. The prisoner hung where he sat in a daze, and Rumlow looked more than happy for him to take his time to gather his wits, rubbing his hands together.

“I want you to know,” Rumlow said quietly, taking a short walk around his prisoner, “you're not leaving this room until I have Fury's location.”

The Avenger's blue gaze flicked towards the sound of Rumlow's voice, though the man himself remained still. Playing possum, Loki thought, with a pleased smile.

“No one's coming for you, Barton. Stark and Cap are out of the picture. Without them, there are no Avengers. You're just a guy with a bunch of arrows, bleeding for no reason.”

“I dunno,” Barton murmured, sounding as if he was skating along the edge of consciousness. “Annoying the fuck out of you seems to be a pretty good reason.”

Rumlow went very still, stiffening. Loki watched him tense and drawn back his muscled arm, curling his hand into a tight fist, and leaning back to put his weight into the next blow. Only, Loki snapped a hand around Rumlow's wrist and stopped him. Rumlow spun about, staring at Loki with wide eyes, seeing the Captain America of Loki's visions. He jerked backwards, body angling slightly back, hand drawing weapon within the blink of an eye. His knuckles were white as they held onto the gun pointed at Loki's head.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded.

“What it looks like. A rescue,” Loki said quietly, his magic curling around gears and triggers, coaxing them to stay in place.

“Yeah? That's nice. Only, I know for a fact you're not, Cap,” Rumlow said, poised, waiting for the moment. “Who the hell are you?”

“Isn't it obvious? Red, white, blue. Truth, justice, and the American way,” Loki teased. “Come on, it's easy. Take a guess.”

“You're not Cap,” Rumlow sneered. “I saw him die. No one comes back from that. I made sure of it.”

“Cap,” Loki said. “Do you always speak so fondly of the men you kill? Or do you kill all the men of whom you speak so fondly?”

Rumlow's eyes flicked up the security device in the corner of the room, which unbeknownst to him, was no longer recording or broadcasting that perhaps now would be a good time for a guard to return. Its innards had momentarily become confused, unable to recognise the passing of time, just like the locks on the doors had become frozen, making a metal wall of a simple door. When Rumlow's gaze snapped for a second to the door, hearing the shouts of guards trying to enter, Loki moved forward and grabbed the barrel of the gun pointed at him. It was no more than a fancy lump of ice within seconds. Loki let go and smiled as Rumlow tried to pull the trigger, which simply fell away.

“You're a dead man,” Rumlow promised, keeping Loki at arm's length, no doubt planning his attack, waiting for help.

Nudging the path of power in the room, Loki made the light dance and flicker, grow bright and dim, as he smiled at Rumlow. “That would explain how I got here, after all, ghosts need no windows, no doors.”

Rumlow, fearing no ghosts, lunged towards Loki, alternating between throwing punches and trying to grab a mask that did not exist. Loki, was not an admirer of using violence to solve problems, but to cut the tiresome scuffle short, smashed an icy Jotun fist into the side of Rumlow's face. Rumlow fell to the ground in a heap. Loki tilted his head and looked down at Rumlow, who was staring up in a daze, either at Loki's glamour, or at the lights above, still flickering.

“Order through pain, that's the motto, is it not?” Loki murmured. Rumlow didn't answer, his eyes slipping shut. “You know nothing of pain.”

Behind him, something crashed to the floor. Loki turned to arch a brow at Barton in his tipped over chair, grimacing in pain. “Aaooww.”

Loki untied his restraints with ease, hauling him up and returning to the library within seconds. By the time he walked past the work room, the recording device in the interrogation cell was operational again, and Steve was walking out to ask, “What happened? The feed cut-”

Steve stopped in the narrow corridor to see Loki with Barton hanging off him, one arm slung around Loki's shoulders. No, not Loki's shoulders, he realised, Captain America's broad and righteous shoulders. He was still wearing the glamour and Steve was staring at a ghost of himself. Even with the cowl, Loki could tell, Steve knew what he was looking at.

“Barnes?” Barton murmured, angling his head towards Loki's chest.

Steve stared at Barton for a moment, watching as Loki's glamour rippled away. It didn't matter. Steve was backing away down the corridor, turning around, leaving fast, as Loki called out, “Steven.”

Barton jerked slightly in Loki's hold, murmuring, “Okay...this is bad.”

The injured man went completely limp. Loki aimed a sharp slanted look in his direction, before rolling his eyes and dragging the unconscious Avenger to the nearest bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some NaNoWriMo words...

Loki recast the glamour just for one last look at a Captain America who existed in his knowledge of divergent paths. He ran his fingers through golden hair, looked deep into defiant blue eyes, the waters of which hadn’t been sullied by Hydra. The man in the mirror had shoulders wide enough to carry worlds, even without a metal appendage. In red, white, and blue, he was resplendent, a god. The stealing of such vigour was crime enough to punish Hydra.

“Fools,” Loki murmured around a bitter taste in his mouth, which curled up in the reflection, such an ill fit on the face before him. The glamour popped like a bubble.

Loki turned away, his hands still damp from washing away Barton’s blood. He wiped them thoroughly on a plush towel, one of many necessities provided by the ever useful Joey who had arrived with bandages and an abysmal lack of knowledge when it came to tending to the injured. Loki had flicked him a jewel and sent him away, tending to the injuries himself. Humans, easy to break, easy to mend.

It seemed Hydra had enjoyed interrogating the Avenger. Swollen fingers on one hand had abrasions where a boot had stamped down hard. His stomach, chest, and back had a collection of purpling bruises, from kicks and punches. Of the cuts to his face, the worst was across the bridge of his nose, now covered by a thin white tape that matched another small strip above his eyebrow. The severest injury was a stab wound to the outside of his right thigh, but Loki had magicked the wound's healing, encouraging the skin and muscle to knit back together swiftly.

Avenger tended to, Loki fell into an armchair, leaning back and watching the rise and fall of Barton's chest as he lay asleep in Steve's bed, since Steve was still out there somewhere, chased away by a ghost of himself. So much for dramatic effect, Loki thought, the man who was supposed to wear the cowl had been frightened by his own alternate reality. Loki wondered for a moment if Steve was gone for good, but then, what else did have anyway, other than this place and Loki?

Loki sighed, noting that Barton was most definitely awake, though he chose to pretend otherwise. Angling his head, Loki looked at the purple attachment curved around the back of Barton's ear and sent out a ripple of magic, seeking out waves and particles, plucking the air to see what might resonate. When he pulled on the right string, Barton lurched up, curling over on one side, yelling in pain as he covered his ear and gritted his teeth. When the pain passed, he glared at Loki with sharp blue eyes.

“You're awake. Wonderful.” Loki smiled, as Barton sat waiting like a snake poised to strike, bright eyes trained on Loki. "Feeling better? You _look_ better.”

Barton didn’t respond, frowning at Loki, asking and answering his own questions privately, Loki presumed.

“You spoke the name Barnes earlier. Is that whom you were expecting?" Loki shifted in his chair, lounging a little. He grinned and said, “I really have no problem carrying both sides of this conversation.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Barton offered up a tight little smile. "But I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the man Hydra would like everyone to think was killed by the invaders," Loki said. He sniffed, straightening the cuff of his shirt sleeve. "They're quite proud of their little trick. I suspect they think you and your allies will be so busy taking the invaders to task over the deaths of Captain America and Iron Man, they will simply walk away with the world without a challenge. Such arrogance. Don’t you just loathe it?"

Barton’s heavy-lidded gaze indicated to some kind of loathing, but Loki guessed it was being aimed closer than Hydra. "I've had a pretty rough few days, so I really hope you won't mind if I ask you who the fuck you are and what the fuck you want."

"Not at all.” Loki grinned. “Ask away."

Barton added a cool smile to the bored look on his face. "Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?"

Still grinning, Loki answered, "A friend. And peace in our time."

"Right,” Barton said dryly. “And I have a rainbow growing out of my ass."

Loki smirked. "I suspect there is little I can do to convince you of my sincerity. If rescuing you right out of Hydra's hands is unlikely to sway you, then I doubt anything else will."

"That's just it. Right out of Hydra's hands. How does that work exactly?"

Loki ran his mind over recent events, squinting as he recollected. "Well, I charmed a mirror into becoming a portal, and used it to step straight into your cell, casting the illusion of your Captain America, and then proceeded to confuse your gaoler before rescuing you, much in the fashion one might rescue a dimwitted prince, or a fair princess."

Barton gave Loki a look and then nodded. “I better be the princess in this scenario."

“Well, I know for a fact that you are not dimwitted.”

“Right.” Barton nodded. “And how do you know that for a fact?”

Loki considered the question. If he answered with the truth, it could be frightening, confusing, possibly even unfair, burdening a man when he was down. Not to mention, interesting to observe.

“I am a practitioner of magic,” Loki said. “I am able to use it to see great distances. Not just other worlds, but other realities. Through visions, I have seen versions of you and I crossing paths many times in other universes.”

Loki's mouth twitched as Barton stared at him with unblinking eyes. A moment later he nodded with a tight smile. “You’re one of the assholes holed up in Stark Tower, aren’t you?”

Loki blinked, eyes widening. “How very astute, Princess.”

“You know I'm going to shoot you the first opportunity I get, right?” Barton said.

Loki held a hand to his chest and responded with utmost sincerity. “I would be insulted if you didn't.”

“So what am I doing here?” Barton asked. “Making friends in low places? It’s not enough you have big blue giants smashing the shit out of everything?”

“Our army attacks to protect their king. To protect the tower from your people who continue to try and lay siege,” Loki said.

“That’s funny. I thought we were fighting to get the tower back, after you killed the man who owned it,” Barton said with feigned confusion.

“Hydra eliminated your man Stark, and your captain, making it seem that my people are responsible for their demise. While your people charge at mine, Hydra are waiting for us to destroy each other so they can pick at the remains.”

“Poor misunderstood you,” Barton said, sounding unconvinced. “How do I come into all this?”

“Quite accidentally,” Loki said. “I was spying on Hydra and you happened to be there. I thought a rescue might alleviate some of the tedium of being stuck in this realm. When you are ready, I will gladly deliver you to your friends-”

Barton started to laugh, shaking his head. Loki couldn’t help but grin. “Right, sure. You’ll deliver me to my friends, and then my friends, to your big blue smashy smashy friends. Right?”

Loki looked at him in mock horror. “You wound me.”

“Forget it. I’m not leading you to shit,” Barton told Loki.

Loki pushed himself up to his feet. “In that case, feel free to leave when you please.”

The murky waters of Barton’s eyes said his distrust had been dented by doubt. He nodded. “Yeah...I’d still rather trust a rattle snake in my boots than you right now.”

Loki blinked. So much for his theory about Barton’s dented distrust. Smiling, he told Barton, “Well, in that case... _hiss_.”

“Funny,” Barton said flatly, watching Loki pick up a data pad he had liberated from Stark Tower. Loki prodded it to life and held it out to Barton. “What is it?”

“See for yourself,” Loki said. “When you leave, take it with you. Your Avenger friends will be interested. A man named Alexander Pierce has been keeping something of great value from you.”

Barton took the data pad, eyeing it as if it might explode. As Loki left the room, he thought it was possible the information within could in fact cause quite a few explosions. Not that he was worried. No. He was rather reinvigorated. There was something about Barton’s presence, a certain _rightness_. Barton was supposed to be close by, just like Steve.

Images of other faces and voices flashed through his mind. The bounce of red hair and the tilt of a devious red smile. The dark scar that ran into an eye patch, appearing on the other side. Red and gold metal armour. Green rage. What made his steps falter, was an image of Thor, golden fury smashing the rainbow bridge.

_If you destroy the bridge, you’ll never see her again!_

Loki stiffly halted halfway up the stairwell, reaching out to lean against the wall. The memory was dizzying and vivid. He could hear the energy that surged through the bridge, he could feel it deep inside his ribcage. He could feel the charge in the air, which pricked at his skin. There was a Thor out there amongst who knew how many universes who had destroyed the bridge for _her_.

Loki closed his eyes, scowling in concentration, seeking _her_ out. Who was this woman for whom Thor would destroy the bridge that linked them to all realms? Was it Sif? Had she been lost to Thor somehow? Was it another? Either way, Thor and Loki were at odds. Not for the first time either. Loki leaned heavy into the wall as his mind flipped through page upon page of their clashes, stopping when Loki smashed his fist into the wall and the pain jolted his mind to a stop.

Gritting his teeth, mood dampened, Loki continued heavily up the stairs, walking into his room and sinking down on the edge of his bed. He glared at the mirror, watching his cracked and untrue reflection glare back. _How is this universe any different_ , he wanted to ask himself? But the loose yellow curls of his hair were black in the mirror, his eyes tinged too green, his skin a cooler pallor. Before he could solve the mystery of his universe, he had to solve the mystery of that cracked mirror.

# ***

The night moved on, Steve failed to return, and the mirror remained cracked, not to mention full of twisted reflections. Loki finally lay down in bed and fell asleep blinking up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, listening to the patter of rain. It was going to thunder, he could hear it in the heaviness of the clouds, a quiet discontented rumble in the distance. The light rain coaxed him to sleep, and after a while a loud crack of thunder was what woke him up. The sound had whipped into the room, sounding so loud it was as if the fabric of the universe had been ripped ruthlessly apart.

Loki sat up with a start, looking around the dark room. He whispered words of magic and snapped his fingers with the kind of flourish that would make Sif roll her eyes, but it appeared the elements were refusing to carry his message to the ailed power source, the room remaining dark. He stood up, peering around him. The only light source was the swollen-looking moon that hung high in the corner of the window like a round paper lantern. Loki frowned in its direction, sensing something amiss.

The air shifted behind him, and Loki twisted around, fist raised to strike. A Thor-shaped shadow grabbed Loki's wrist wrapping an arm around his waist and using his mass to drive Loki up against the wall next to the window, trapping his free hand between his back and the wall, Thor leaning into him hard, keeping him immobile. Out of the reach of the moon’s light, Thor was barely lit, the colour of his hair and eyes lost to the dark. Not that Loki needed to see to know he was in Thor’s hold.

Thor leaned forward, resting his forehead against Loki's, a sigh escaping his lips. It almost felt like an accident when Thor's lips pressed half-open against Loki's mouth. Loki’s own mouth opened in surprise, lips curling up slowly. Thor let go of Loki's wrist and pulled him away from the wall, freeing his other hand. Loki instantly reached up to bury his fingers in Thor’s hair, pulling him into a kiss filled with anger, frustration and desire rolled into one.

Thor ended the kiss by pulling his mouth away. Loki peered at Thor, seeking out the lines of his face in the dim light. Did he see a glint of teeth, a pleased smile that seemed to fit ill Thor’s face? Thor hoisted him away from the wall, turning and walking to the bed where he dropped Loki, climbing on top, poised over him like a lion toying with its supper.

“Wake up,” Loki told himself quietly. “You dream.”

“You ran away,” Thor said, his voice wobbling, as if coming from the bottom of an ocean. “From _me_.”

“This is a dream,” Loki murmured. “I can walk the dreams of others. This is nothing. Wake up.”

Thor covered Loki's mouth with his hand, leaning in to whisper, “I have always stood by you have I not? From when we were children, Loki, I have always been there. You ran when I needed you. Why? Just like a Jotun. Silver-tongued deceivers.”

Loki gently pulled away Thor’s hand. “We don’t have to fight.”

“Fighting seems to be in our destiny,” Thor said quietly, holding out a closed fist above Loki's face. Loki frowned in its direction until it opened and a needle at the end of a thread swung back and forth, teasing Loki's mouth. Loki swallowed, watching moonlight hit the needle as it swung.

“You would silence me so callously?” Loki asked Thor, his voice catching.

“This is how it always ends for you,” Thor said, gently cupping the back of Loki’s head. “No more Jotun deception.”

The needle pressed sharp against skin and muscle and then pushed right past the resistance with a sharp and hot pain, bursting through the other side, the bright needle filling him with light. Loki felt a rush of heat spread wildly through him, as if the blood in his veins had caught fire. He screamed in agony as he burned under every inch of skin, scrabbling in an unknown direction, curling over himself.

“Loki,” Steve yelled from somewhere far away. Loki squeezed his eyes shut. Now he would fall under a white sky and Steve would hold him, his eyes filled with tender mourning. “Loki. Can you hear me?”

“Help me,” Loki gasped. “I’m burning.”

“You’re not burning,” Steve said calmly, taking Loki’s hands in his, holding them tight. “Look.”

Loki looked down at his hands. They had no Asgardian shimmer, and they weren’t a Jotun blue. They were red raw and charred, fingers curled and cracked, useless. Loki let out a wet gasp, blinking with wet shocked eyes. He made a pitiful noise, something that sounded like a hopeless sob, a pleading sound. Someone hauled him off the ground and dragged him away. Loki blindly stumbled down a curling staircase, an iron grip around his waist keeping him steady somehow. The world in front of him was a hot blur, and a furnace inside.

It took an eternity before he realised his face was no longer wet with tears, but with water. Cool, soothing, water. He felt the fingers of coolness extend all the way inside, prying open his eyes, stroking his skin. Relief brought him to his knees, his head hanging down as he let rain fall on the back of his head, crawling down his neck and under his clothes. He looked down at his hands, palms pressed against the ground, partially submerged in a puddle.

Next to his hands was the reflection of Steve standing over him, the moon shining bright right behind his head. Loki reached back, his hand landing on Steve’s knee. Steve took it as a sign to help him to his feet, which he did in one swift move by pulling Loki up by his arm, which was aching at the wrist and shoulder. Loki glanced at the metal hand protruding from the sleeve of Steve’s jacket, wondering how deep his nightmare had taken him.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

Loki looked at him, watching rain falling down Steve’s face, his eyes looking even brighter than the moon, and infinitely more interesting. His clothes clung to him, and somehow the rain had washed away some of the taint of Hydra. In the midst of this city, and the chaos Asgard had brought to Midgard, Loki felt as if he and Steve were the only ones under the dark blanket of the sky tonight. Loki certainly felt that had it not been for the snowflakes that started to land on his face, he would have been more than okay.

Loki lurched up from his bed as thunder struck hard, only to be slammed back down by Steve, Loki’s wrists pinned to the mattress. Loki struggled, bucking up against Steve to free himself, but Steve had him held down with a vice-like grip, his metal hand locked hard, sending a wave of pain all the way to Loki’s shoulder, making him cry out in surprise.

“Unhand me,” Loki attempted to growl, sounding shaken instead.

“Are you awake?” Steve asked, watching him carefully.

“Yes,” Loki hissed, “now let go of me.”

Steve sat back in one fluid movement, climbing off of Loki to move to the edge of the bed, as Loki scrambled up into a sitting position, before putting some space between him and Steve, moving until his back hit the headboard of the bed.

“Don’t you ever dare touch me again,” Loki said breathlessly, swallowing down the bitter taste of both rage and fear. “I am a _god_. Do you understand?”

“You said you were burning,” Steve said with a curious look. Loki scowled at him, distracted from his annoyance by the pain in his arm. He looked at his wrist, decorated with indentation marks, rotating his stiff shoulder with a grimace. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Loki said. “I’ve sustained worse injuries combing my hair.”

Something like a smile flickered across Steve’s mouth, stopping dead all of Loki’s thoughts. It was the merest of movements, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly, but his eyes had sparkled at the same time with amusement, and with warmth. Loki felt stupidly overwhelmed. He ended up spluttering out a quiet laugh, shaking his head and looking away. The laughter faded as soon as he set eyes on his problematic mirror, the reflections of strangers staring back.

“When I looked at you before, when you brought that guy back here,” Steve said quietly. Loki glanced at him, finding him regarding his own reflection carefully. “I thought I was looking in the mirror. But that was just you. Playing tricks.” Steve’s brow dented in what could have been annoyance, confusion. “Why did you do that?”

Loki shifted his gaze to the floor, sifting through the possible answers in his mind, before looking up and answering, “Hydra think Captain America is dead. I wanted to see how they would react to meeting his ghost.”

Steve watched him silently for a moment, before asking, “And the real reason?”

Loki smiled. “It seemed like an opportune moment to bring to life the man I have seen in my visions. It was oddly satisfying.”

Steve looked back at the mirror. “I’m not him.”

“No, you’re not,” Loki nodded in agreement, “but he is still a part of you, in which case, perhaps you are him. Just a little bit anyway.”

The corner of of Steve’s mouth lifted in amusement, even though his eyes were on his flexing metal hand. After a moment, he looked up at the mirror and frowned. “Your mirror makes no sense. It’s in two places at once.”

“What?” Loki asked flatly, looking from Steve to the mirror, and back to Steve.

“When you broke into the Hydra cell, you used the mirror downstairs to connect to their two-way mirror.” Loki nodded. Steve pointed at the mirror in front. “This was in the tower when we stepped into it, and when we stepped out the other side.”

Loki stared at Steve and then the mirror, murmuring, “In two places at the same time.”

“Like I said. Makes no sense,” Steve said. He gave Loki a quizzical look. “You did know that, right? What with you being a god and everything.”

Brows raised, Loki stared at Steve a little dumbstruck. Then he smiled. “I...am aware things are not as they seem. There really is no need to look so smug. Though, it does rather suits you.”

Steve didn’t look smug, but he did muster up the tiniest of smiles. “So what does it mean?”

“Oh.” Loki feigned a look of surprise. “You mean you don’t know?”

The glint of teeth in Steve’s smile, the almost-grin, made Loki swallow, something clenching hard in his chest. The universe seemed to tilt into place simply because Steve’s face had bloomed into something human for a moment, leaving everything else around them seem utterly wrong. Bile rose up from Loki’s stomach, his mouth filling with water as the universe righted...or perhaps, wronged itself.

“You all right?” Steve asked.

Loki squeezed the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tight for a moment, nodding mutely. Steve sat in quiet as Loki let the dizziness pass, along with the urge to throw up his entire stomach. When his mind had righted itself, Loki slid away from the headboard until he was lying back down, blinking up at the ceiling.

“I saw too much,” he murmured. “We were trying to save our realm, and I used dark magic to delve into possible futures. But I saw too much. I saw pasts, and presents. Forks in the road of every kind. Now everything is stained by the ink of those visions.”

“Is that what you were dreaming about?” Steve asked.

Loki nodded. “There is a realm where I burned, and you were an Avenger. I brought you here to this place. You and I, Steven, our paths are crossing infinitely, realm upon realm. Do you know what that means for my kind?”

“What?” Steve asked.

“It means, you and I are connected, not by chance, but by fate.” Loki sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“Or something else,” Steve said, humour laced into his quiet tone.

“Yes. Or something else.” Loki smiled and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at the impossible mirror. He watched Steve’s lying reflection as he got up, telling him, “Stay.”

Steve stood by the bed, watching Loki quietly. How Loki would have liked to seen the thoughts swinging in his head.

“Your bed is currently occupied by an injured Avenger,” Loki said. “Stay. There’s room enough for two.”

Steve arched a brow at the bed, delighting Loki to no end. Hydra had only oppressed the human, but done nothing to erase him completely.

“I’ll have to ask you to keep your hands to yourself, of course,” Loki said. “My king has terribly high regard for fidelity.”

Steve responded by ignoring Loki, taking of his jacket and throwing it across the bed onto an armchair. He walked around the bed, sitting down heavily before removing his boots, Loki watching him quietly. When he lay down, it was with his back to Loki, and he became so still it was as if someone had turned him off.

“No kiss?” Loki asked quietly, smiling.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Steve said flatly. “You’re a god, remember?”

Loki stared in surprise, and then lay back with a satisfied grin on his face.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More NaNoWriMo words...

The key, Loki thought, was to go right to the beginning, to that time where mirrors didn’t crack and decide for themselves what they were going to reflect-

A quiet, almost undetectable, whirring noise pulled Loki away from that thought. He turned his head and looked at Steve curled up on his side in Loki’s bed, his back to Loki. His breathing had finally shifted into real sleep, whereas for the last hour it had been the tense silence of a man pretending and waiting, playing possum. Loki turned onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, listening as Steve’s metal arm made strange little noises, sending up little power fluctuations that plucked at the air with worry. Even in asleep, Steve was not at rest.

Loki sighed and lay back down, tucking his arm behind his head. The lights were too bright for night, so he closed his eyes and fine tuned the strings of energy that were all around him, sending out messages and commands until the orange of his eyelids dimmed. When he opened them, the room was dark except for the moonlight that stopped just short of the bed. The sky on the other side of the window was not quite black. It seemed to glow, hiding away those faraway dimming stars. Only the moon was bright enough to make her presence felt, and what a presence, Loki thought.

Nothing compared to the skies of Asgard though. Jotunheim’s skies were as bleak and cold as the world below them. Stars shone an icy white against a brooding blue-black that gave cover without without warming the heart. Loki had looked up at the Jotun sky countless times, seeking out the comfort of those pinked Asgardian mists. Even when his heart grew cold for the ones who had abandoned him, the thought of lying under the canopy of Asgard’s brightly coloured skies sometimes lit a brief flame to flicker in chest, keeping him warm during the coldest of Jotun winters.

He blinked sleepily at the window, his mind unfolding one thought after the other. Asgard lay somewhere beyond the little star that was shining incredibly bright in the sky tonight, tinged a little blue, teetering on its cosmic branch. Teetering? Falling. Asgard was falling and somehow Loki had forgotten this. His mind had become preoccupied by his impossible mirror, by Steve Rogers, and by the realities of which he had caught glimpse and now taunted him with the existent of other paths, possibilities and predictions.

There was a world eating snake in all his visions, not just the one where he had burned so bad, his scars had crawled right into other realities. The serpent always came, consumed and brought death even in its own dying. That was its fate. Even when one thought they could evade fate’s intentions, Frigga had once explained, it was fate’s hand that guided all the while. Choice was just an illusion. But, Loki had questioned, what if you _could_ avoid fate’s guiding hand? What if fate was just submitting in the face of the impossible? When he had been taken screaming from Asgard, Laufey had called it fate too. He had said, “It is as it was meant to be.” Laufey and Odin had both decided that Loki’s return to Jotunheim was always inevitable. But what of all those realities where Loki had grown up a part of Asgard? Had fate been sleeping then?

Loki glanced at Steve. In all of his visions Loki had seen Steve as Captain America. What had happened to make fate push him off the track he should have taken? Loki frowned at Steve’s sleeping form, deciding that fate was a chaotic and mischievous thing. What tricks it played on both gods and mortals. Maybe fate had been slighted and took its anger out on the living. It was almost an enjoyable thought. Steve let out a quiet little gasp and Loki inched closer, hovering over him and watching him in silence. Steve’s body was shaking and he had curled in on himself, uselessly trying to make himself small. The mind made it impossible to escape tortures past, and it seemed Steve’s mind was holding him captive in a bygone moment of pain. Loki leaned in close with a quiet sigh.

“I will not take your memories,” Loki whispered, reaching out and letting his hand hover over Steve’s head. His fingers stroked the space around Steve’s mind, finding fear and anger pricking hotly at the air. He followed those strings and tied them up, the memories being subverted into a black space that heard, saw, and felt nothing. “But I will give you momentarily darkness.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath, his body going limp. Loki smiled with satisfaction. A dreamless sleep, he thought, was much better than any sweet dream. Perhaps better than dreaming altogether. It was why Loki was still awake, not desiring a return to the dream from which Steve had woken him. He’d tired of dreams and visions. What he craved was clarity and those memories of the moment he had immersed with the ever-extending cracks of the universe and seen through the eyes of every one of his namesakes. What had been so awful that he had spiralled into madness. What had the Svartálfar taken from him?

He thought back to when it all begun, that moment the fates must have found themselves bored and decided to start a new game. Loki had been in his chamber, though he couldn’t remember what he was doing. Everytime he thought back, his mind threw him an image of him looking into a mirror, staring vacantly at his own reflection. It could have been a memory, but just as easily, a fabrication of his own mind. He remembered looking at his hand. His Asgardian glmaour had fallen away in small black flecks that disappeared into the air, and a Jotun blue had crept up his arm. The last time his glamour had shifted without his trying, a Jotun had been dragging him away from Asgard, shoving him into Laufey’s arms. He shook his hand, snapping the glamour back into place, and leaving his chamber.

Odin had triggered his ability to shift the first time he touched Loki, and Odin’s magic was tied into Loki’s skin. If the glamour was shifting of its own accord, Loki knew it had something to do with his Asgardian father. He ran through the golden halls of the palace, calling for the guards to follow. A loud explosion stopped him and the guards in their steps, sending everyone flying off their feet. The very foundations of Asgard seemed to have been shaken.

“Loki,” Hogun called out, running down the hall and pulling Loki to his feet.

“We have to get to Odin,” Loki said breathlessly. “Something’s wrong.”

What was wrong became apparent as soon as he reached the throne room. Guards were holding someone down, and Loki could hear the blood curdling growls of their prisoner. Fandral stood close by, running his hands through his hair, watching soldiers trying to keep down their captive. He seemed on edge, scared perhaps.

“What’s happened?” Hogun asked, as Loki watched the group of soldiers, each one trying their mighty best to keep the prisoner at bay.

Fandral turned to address Hogun and stopped when he saw Loki. His eyes were bright. Loki moved closer to the doors of the throne room and looked inside. Where the throne once sat was a crater. The whole back of the room had been blown out and Loki could see across the city and at the mountains in the distance. The whole place smelled like smoke and ash. Loki swallowed, shaking his head. At that moment, all the soldiers went flying back, their prisoner roaring loud and emerging from amongst them. Loki watched Thor’s enraged form darting towards the crater. Loki ran at the same time, blocking his way by placing his hand on Thor’s chest. When he looked into Thor’s eyes it was like looking at a stranger. Rage had contorted his features into something terrifying.

Loki realised he was shaking. “He’s gone.”

“No!” Thor grabbed him by both arms, trying to throw him aside, grappling with him to get him out of the way. But Loki held fast to him.

“He’s gone, he’s gone,” Loki said. “He’s gone, Thor.”

Thor moved his hands to grab Loki by the front of his coat, shaking him hard. “ _No._ ”

Loki shook his head, tears welling up for Odin against his will. All he could say was, “Brother. _Please_.”

Thor’s fingers slowly uncurled from the fabric of Loki’s coat before he stumbled back, looking numb. He looked past Loki’s shoulder, before stepping around him and taking a few slow steps towards the ruins of the throne room. Loki turned to watch as Thor took another few steps before crumpling to his knees. Loki moved towards him, but Sif was running to his side, crouching down next to him, putting consoling arms around him, sharing his tears with the ones in her own eyes.

Loki turned to Fandral instead, asking him, “What happened?”

Fandral looked away from Thor, shaking his head. “I do not know.”

“This has the mark of Dark Elves all over it,” Hogun said. “They appear, they cause chaos, they disappear.”

“This is worse than chaos,” Loki said. “Thor is not ready to be king, but king he has become. We must find out if the Dark Elves are behind this as soon as possible. He will look for someone to blame for his father’s death, facts be damned.”

“Was he not your father too?” Fandral asked, a little too sternly for Loki’s liking.

“I have been fatherless for some time. I mourned the loss of both my fathers a long time ago.” Loki gave Fandral an even look despite the tears stinging his eyes. “Find out what has happened here. Thor’s first act as king can’t be to start a war with every realm he suspects.”

“And you?” Hogun asked.

Loki turned and looked at where Thor still sat kneeling, Sif with him. He turned at Hogun and said, “I will be in my chamber if you have need of me.”

“You should be with Thor. You are his consort,” Fandral said, looking a little disappointed in Loki. Loki would have laughed, but the moment lacked all humour.

“He will come to me when he needs me,” Loki said quietly, before turning his back on the scene and slipping back into the shadows, not stopping until he reached his chambers.

Inside, he walked straight through to the balcony, hands gripping the balcony wall as he tried to control his breathing. He had lost Frigga twice, and now he’d lost Odin a second time too. How he wanted to be jubilant, to laugh at Odin who had the power to keep Loki on Asgard, but instead he’d let the Jotuns have their way. But it appeared that Loki’s heart was full of sorrow, so much so, that his hatred had become obscured. He watched the sky until the light of day began to dim and fiery colours split across the sky, which too disappeared, leaving behind those mists with newly birthed stars. How could they shine so bright? Didn’t they know a whole realm was in mourning?

Night fell, and finally the doors to his chambers opened. He turned towards the sound of heavy footsteps, finding Hogun coming to a stop before him, looking sombre. He nodded at Loki. “Prince Loki.”

Loki nodded back. “News?”

“The throne room has been emptied,” he said. “I came to ask after you.”

“There’s no need. I’m quite all right,” Loki said. “How is Thor?”

“The king mourns,” Hogun said. “You should be with him.”

“Sif is-”

“Not his brother,” Hogun cut Loki off. “Nor his consort. She does not share his loss. That is your burden, my Prince.”

Loki clenched his jaw, biting back his response that he owed this realm nothing. He had been abandoned longer than he had been loved. Yet, he nodded, turning his back on Hogun to take comfort in the Asgardian sky. “I am duty-bound. So I shall do my duty by the king.”

“Loki,” Hogun started with a pitying tone.

“You can go now,” Loki said. “Go and find answers. Thor needs you. He needs all of us.”

Off Hogun went to do his duty, whilst Loki stood gripping the top of the balcony wall, his knuckles turned white. He could be angry, he thought, spend his whole existence in bitterness. Or this could be the beginning of something new. Something built by him and Thor, separate from the past. Loki walked out of his chambers, walking down the grand corridor of the royal quarters. The guards bowed as Loki walked past them and into Thor’s chambers. No light burned within, and a cool breeze filled the air. Thor was standing at his balcony, wrapped up in a dark cloak and looking down on the city. Loki walked the length of the room and stopped by his side, joining him in his silence.

“They’re gone, Loki,” Thor said after a long time, his voice thick. “They’re both gone now. First Mother, and now Father too. We are alone.”

Loki swallowed, the night lights of the city developing soft halos as he stared at them. “We still have each other.”

From the corner of his eye, Loki could see Thor turn his head to look at Loki, before stepping away from the balcony altogether. Loki turned towards him, swallowing the tightness in his throat. As he blinked, one tear betrayed his control and fell. Thor reached out to cup Loki’s face, his thumb rubbing away the wetness from his skin.

“Loki,” he said, before pulling Loki into a tight embrace, whispering, “ _B_ _rother_.”

Was this fate too? Odin had brought Loki to Asgard and given him Thor as a brother. That same Odin had allowed Loki to be torn away from his brother and his home. That same Odin had Loki return to Asgard as Thor’s consort to appease the Jotuns. Yet, in this moment, Loki and Thor were once again brothers, mourning their loss together. It stunk of fate when Loki really thought about it. It absolutely reeked.

They both pulled apart when Thor’s warriors all rushed into the chamber, Sif at their head with a look that didn’t inspire much confidence. She nodded to Thor and Loki. “My King. Prince Loki.”

“What is it?” Thor asked.

“The Elves,” Fandral replied gravely. “They’ve left a mark.”

They all hurried down into the crypts deep under the foundation of the palace and at the centre of Asgard itself. There in the ground was a large and thick black crack. Its unnatural silence and stillness sent a spike of panic through Loki’s chest.

“How do you know it was the Elves?” Thor asked, his jaw working to contain his anger.

“Its appearance set off a trap,” Sif said. “This is not old.”

“It’s trying to grow,” Loki said quietly, all eyes turning to him. “I can feel it. It should be bigger, but Odin’s traps are keeping it restrained. The Elves have left this crack to split Asgard open.”

“How can you be sure?” Fandral asked, whilst Thor look at the crack in silence, fear flickering in his dark eyes.

Loki nodded. “I have heard the Jotuns talk of such magic. The Elves don’t destroy people. They destroy realms. Once their magic has eaten through all of Odin’s traps, that crack will widen, and it will grow until this realm splinters in half.”

The Elves knew that Asgard sat there at the top of the Tree of Life, unaided by the firm ground of any world. Once it was cracked down the middle, it would fly apart at every seam, and fall away, no more than cosmic debris.

“I don’t know what to do,” Thor confessed deep into the night, as both of them sat on the floor with their backs against the large couches, basking in the warmth of the fireplace in a room that looked across Asgard, right at the rainbow bridge. “Father would know. He always knew.”

“Father’s traps will hold,” Loki said, leaning back with a sigh. “It will give us time to find a way to stop this. The Elves are arrogant if they think Odin will not have protected every corner of Asgard from their magic.”

“He didn’t protect himself,” Thor said.

“Maybe it was a choice between him and Asgard,” Loki said. “Father would sacrifice anything or anyone for this place.”

Loki looked away from the fire to see Thor watching him. Quietly he asked, “Like you?”

Loki avoided Thor’s eyes, hooded with too much sadness. Looking into the flames instead, Loki said, “He did what he had to for Asgard. He was a good king to his people.”

“Just not a good father to his son,” Thor said.

Loki’s head snapped up as he stared at Thor. “He was a good father to you. You need not sour your mourning on my behalf. He loved you, I have no doubt about that. But then you…somehow, you are loved by all.”

Thor’s mouth twitched slightly. “Was that a confession of love, Loki?”

“Not even on pain of death.” Loki said with a smile, shaking his head and looking away.

“Don’t be so coy.” Thor tugged at his sleeve and pulled him closer. Loki looked at the pinched fabric of his sleeve and arched a brow at Thor. His arrogance seemed momentarily chipped, made brittle by the death of Odin. Loki reached out and placed his hand on Thor’s shoulder and leaned in close, only for Thor to stop him with a hand on his chest, whispering, “Stay with me tonight.”

Loki nodded, pushing past the resistance of the hand on his chest, before pressing his mouth to Thor’s in a kiss. The night wasn’t long, most of it already spent in mourning, so they lay together for the remaining hours, wrapped around each other. Somewhere beneath them, under Asgard, the crack waited, its magic slithering around Odin’s traps, trying to pry them open to find space to grow. Loki had pushed these thoughts apart with kisses, not knowing that the solution would come with him as the key to saving Asgard.

He closed his eyes tight against the resurgent memories, thinking instead of his hands on Thor’s body, fingers gripping his arms, wrapping around his shoulders, their bodies moving together frantically, part desire, part fear of the days ahead. That was it, the last moment of clarity. He and Thor moving as one.

“Loki,” his name was whispered against his mouth. He pulled back, fingers curling into fabric over heated muscle.

Loki blinked, smoothing a hand down the broad chest under him, smoothing it back up until it came to a stop under a bared throat. His eyes travelled up to the square jaw and the kissed-plump lips of Steve’s mouth. He looked up then into a pair of suspicious blue eyes that shone bright under the tinged colours of sunrise.

“What are you doing?” Steve whispered, his eyes flicking to Loki’s mouth and back.

“Dreaming,” Loki said. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to-”

Steve leaned up in a swift motion to press his mouth against Loki’s, his thick arm curling around Loki’s shoulders. It wasn’t really a kiss for a moment, just mouth pressed against mouth, until Steve’s lips parted just a fraction and he angled his head, his lips parting Loki’s. Loki allowed himself to be pushed onto his back, keeping Steve pulled close, deepening their kiss before he pulled his mouth away.

“Steven,” Loki said breathlessly. “Are _you_ dreaming?”

Steve shook his head slowly. “No.”

They surged towards each other at the same time, locking lips, hands pulling at each others clothes. Until...until something seemed amiss, and they both felt it at the same time. Steve pulled away, kneeling on the bed and looking towards the door, as Loki propped himself up on his elbows and peered in the same direction.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asked.

Loki nodded. “We are not alone.”

Steve was already moving, grabbing Loki’s hand and pulling him along. Loki looked at his hand in Steve’s grasp until Steve let go and they started to descend the stairs. He wanted to make jest of Steve’s proprietary handling, it seemed like the thing to do, but his wrist ached, and his mouth was tingling, and he wondered if somewhere near Asgard a seer a had fallen over in disgust and told Thor to rein in his consort, whilst laying curses on Asgard’s wayward Jotun. It was a delicious thought, from which Loki was torn away by the flickering of a shadow, someone moving in the dark. Loki whipped around and threw out a bolt of energy that toppled a shelf.

Under the cover of darkness someone darted behind the shelves and shot back at him with a projectile weapon, catching his sleeve as he moved out of its way. Steve was grappling with someone out of sight. Loki moved towards the sound of their struggle, raising his hand to fire, but something whipped around his arm tight before crackling sharply, sending bolts of energy up his arm. Painful, but not deadly. He ripped away the metal bindings, but as he did so, someone latched themselves onto his back, before slipping a hard wire around his throat and pulling. His attacker was small and lacked strength, but like a buzzing insect attracted to a scent, annoyingly persistent.

The lights came on just as he managed to throw off his attacker, his hand going to his abused throat. He stepped back to take a look at the woman who had tried to slice his head off. She was slowly rising to her feet, watching him closely and planning her next attack. Not a single red hair was out of place on her head, and the curve of her mouth said that her tussle with Loki had impressed her. Loki looked at her, waited for the cogs of his mind to stop turning and lock.

“Natasha Romanoff,” Loki murmured. “The Widow.”

She frowned at him, slowly raising her fists. “Have we met?”

“An infinite number of times,” Loki said.

She scowled at him, her mouth opening to say something, but stopping at the sound of a body smashing down onto a table. Romanoff and Loki’s heads whipped around in time to see a man in a very familiar uniform throw an even more familiar shield across the library at Steve, who leapt into the air and onto the counter, catching the shield and staring down the man Loki guessed was Captain America.

The man wearing the Captain American uniform had backed away from Steve, and was now staring at Steve, the cowl over deep brown skin unable to mask the confusion in dark brown eyes. Steve was staring too, his eyes on the shield in his hands. His shield. Someone cleared their throat making everyone look in the direction of Clint Barton, his hand still on the light switch.

“Hey,” he said flatly.

“Hey,” Romanoff and Captain America replied in the same flat tone.

Loki stepped to the side, bringing all of them into view, Romanoff and Barton silently communicating with their eyes, and Captain America staring up at Steve, as Steve looked up from the shield to stare at Loki, before his eyes flicked to something behind Loki. Someone. Loki grinned and turned around to find a man with his one surprised eye trained on Steve. It then slowly moved to Loki, attached to a very unimpressed expression.

“Colonel Fury, I presume,” Loki said with a smile. “I’ve been expecting you.”


	15. Chapter 15

In the corner of the library, a dusty book-laden table had been cleared away, a handful of Avengers assembled around it, with Fury at the head. Loki watched them in silence as Barton explained the circumstances of his capture, followed briefly by the method of his escape from Hydra's hands. He kept the details to a minimum, the meat to come when Loki no doubt be out of earshot. As Barton finished, Romanoff, Fury and Wilson all turned their bland expressions on Loki, as if he had committed a heinous crime and not saved their friend from an exhaustive pummelling. So much for gratitude.

Loki flashed them a wide grin. “You're welcome.”

The bland expressions didn't shift. They remained on him for at least a few seconds longer, Romanoff's eyes narrowing. Barton and Fury shared a look, and Barton's withheld breath indicated he was eager to share that which he had held back. Wilson on the other hand had moved his gaze from Loki to Steve, Captain America glancing at the Soldier who sat at the end of the table. Steve wouldn't have noticed Wilson's scrutiny. His glassy gaze was fixed on the round shield resting before them like some kind of gaudy centrepiece.

Loki stood up, arching a brow at Fury. “I'm sure you have many questions you'd like to ask Barton about...well, a number of things. Why don't Steven and I give you a little privacy?”

Fury's brow furrowed in curiosity, but he didn't say anything. Like the others, he glanced at Steve. Loki nodded at them turned and walked away, hearing behind him the abrupt movement of chair legs scraping against tiles. This was followed by heavy and quick paced footsteps all the way up to Loki's room. Loki entered the room and stopped before his mirror, seeing his other self stare back, as Steve's wholesome but fraudulent reflection looked towards the doorway, brow dented with questions.

“They're all here,” Loki murmured. “The Widow. Barton. Fury. _We're_ all here. You and I. Them. In this place, drawn to each other again. And again. And again. The Fates must be bored.”

Loki's visions had shown him so many worlds where he was at odds with these people, and so few where they were on the same side. And yet, here he was, Steve Rogers beside him, and the others within reach. Loki sat down on his bed, slowly falling onto his back and blinking up at the rafters, his mind on the man who called himself Captain America. Loki knew his face too. He had seen glimpses of Sam Wilson, soaring high with metal wings. Now here he was carrying the burden of _that_ shield.

“Captain America,” Loki murmured to himself. He sat up to find Steve intently watching him from the doorway. Loki tilted his head at Steve, trying to read the oddly innocent expression. Quietly, he asked, “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why did you kiss me?” Steve countered, taking a few steps towards the bed.

“I was dreaming...of pleasant things,” Loki said. “You didn't answer my question. Why did _you_ kiss me?”

Steve's gazed turned inwards, confusion clouding his expression. “I wanted to stop dreaming.”

Loki got up, taking a few steps to close the gap between himself and Steve. “What were you dreaming about?”

Steve shook his head, frowning. “I was trapped. It was cold. You woke me up.”

Loki smiled, a terribly childish bloom of pride spreading throughout his chest, something naive and untainted that Loki thought had been lost between Asgard and Jotunheim. Loki reached out, covering Steve's fisted hand which hung limp by his side, gently prying the fingers open and then keeping them in his hold.

“We're both fully awake now,” Loki said, looking down at Steve's hand. “And you feel far from cold to me.”

Loki leaned in, his eyes flicking down to Steve's mouth. When he looked up, Steve's own gaze had lowered, the shadow of long lashes reaching down his cheeks, down to his slightly parted lips. Loki angled his head, his breath stilling in his lungs as Steve met him rest of the way and pressed his lips against Loki's. It was exquisite, the touch of Steve's lips firing a trail of desire that ran right the way through Loki. Loki's hand tightened hard around Steve's fingers, and he could feel the metal of Steve's other hand in a solid grip around Loki's elbow. It was at the same time all too little, and all too much. Desire, Loki realised, was possibly not the full extent of his feelings for Steve.

They pulled away slowly. Loki pressed his forehead against Steve's, taking a breath before looking at the soldier. Steve was watching him silently with an undecipherable look on his face, his metal fingers shifting where they held Loki's elbow, his flesh hand making no attempt to extricate itself from Loki's hold. His cheeks had pinked slightly, the blues of his eyes fractionally eclipsed by the dark moon of his pupil. There was desire there, and though it should have made Loki grin, he realised the smile on his face felt unstable, fragile enough to break the merest nudge of disappointment.

“Well, you're still here, I suppose that's a good sign,” Loki said, forcing that smile into a flippant grin.

Steve frowned, opening his mouth to say something, stopped by a loud cough. Steve's head whipped around towards the source of the sound, whilst Loki remained watching Steve, committing to memory the strong bridge of his nose, the jut of his chin, and lips parted in surprise under a pink flush. Loki's heart knocked hard in his chest, like a warning, an alarm. He let go of Steve's hand as the metal grip around his elbow loosened and fell away. Composing himself, Loki turned towards the intruder with a patient but mirthless smile.

“Colonel,” he said.

“Hope I'm not interrupting,” Fury said, sounding neither regretful nor filled with hope.

“Nothing that can't wait,” Loki said. “I take it Barton has bored you with the retelling of his miraculous escape.”

Fury, like most one-eyed men, seemed unamused by Loki's jest. “Actually, I was hoping for a minute with...your friend. In private.”

“A whole minute?” Loki pursed his mouth, wondering what private things could be shared between two men who did not know each other. Nodding, he told Fury, “A minute you shall have then.”

“No,” Steve said evenly. He was looking Fury directly in his dark brown all-seeing eye. “He can say whatever he has to say in front of you.”

Fury arched his scarred brow at Loki. “It might be a conversation better had in private.”

“Why?” Steve asked, in fine belligerent form.

Before Fury could answer, Loki explained, “The colonel wishes to know whether I have you under my sway as Hydra once did. Am I right?”

“Do you?” Fury asked. Loki laughed, shaking his head.

“No,” Steve answered. “He doesn't.”

“You know that for sure?” Fury asked Steve. “Did you know Hydra had a hold of you?”

“That was different,” Steve said, but the stubborn hardness of his expression had turned soft with doubt. “This isn't….it's not the same.”

“How?” Fury asked. When Steve didn't answer he took a step closer towards him. Steve tensed, his body inflating fractionally, shoulders squared and ready, which stopped Fury from moving.

“It's not the same,” Steve said more firmly.

“Maybe,” Fury said. “Hydra must be like waking up from nightmare. But doesn't mean this can't be a dream.”

“If this is a dream, there's no reason I should be listening to a figment of my imagination,” Steve said, which visibly surprised Fury.

“There's more than one way to control someone, son. It doesn't always have to be through cruelty.” Fury looked at Loki. “It can be through something that might look like kindness.”

“He's right,” Loki told Steve, his gaze fixed on Fury. He pointed at Fury, telling Steve, “Kill him.”

Fury stiffened on the spot, body braced to retaliate, hand moving towards the weapon holstered inside his long leather coat. Steve however was rooted to the spot, staring at Loki, looking almost betrayed.

“Do it,” Loki said. “It's an order. Kill him.”

Steve swallowed, jaw clenching. He wouldn't look at Fury, eyes fixed somewhere past him, glassy and bright. He turned his bright gaze on Loki, questioning, but surprisingly without accusation.

“What's the matter?” Loki asked softly. “Lost the compulsion to obey? That'll be the substances Hydra pumped into your blood to keep you pliant, being rapidly burned away. It'll be the commands they tried to burn into your brain, scarring and fading. That reluctance and anguish you feel could only be free will. Nothing comes quite with the burdens that freedom does.”

Steve blinked at him, his eyes having turned pink. He looked tired and Loki felt his heart ache for the man who had been treated as a machine for so long that he now perhaps doubted his own realness.

“What do you say, Colonel?” Loki asked, tilting his head in Steve's direction. “Is he under my sway?”

“Free will,” Fury said, “doesn't mean you're right about who you can trust.”

“Why should he trust you?” Loki asked Fury just as he heard the commotion downstairs, the sound of people rushing into the building.

Outside, there was a loud whirring sound, something beating hard at the air, whilst shining a bright light directly into the room. Loki shielded his eyes and looked at the window, seeing only a bright luminous eye staring back from what he assumed was one of Fury's machines.

Loki looked back at Fury with a grin. “I suppose that answers my question.”

“What is this?” Steve asked, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides, ready to strike.

“I believe Colonel Fury is about offer us an invitation we can't refuse,” Loki said.

“I can't leave you here,” Fury said. “I think you can probably guess why.”

“Oh yes. You're entirely predictable,” Loki said.

“I'm not with Hydra,” Steve told Fury, and though it came out stern, there was a catch in his voice that made Loki want to drag him through the mirror to somewhere he could just... _be_.

Fury was staring at Steve, momentarily silent. He sighed then and said, “As far as you know.”

Steve's expression went blank, his mouth slightly open, no words passing his lips. It hadn't occurred to him, Loki thought, that there could be layers of his mind still at the beck and call of Hydra.

“And you,” Fury said to Loki. Loki smiled and offered the smallest bow of his head. “You're going to get us back into Stark Tower and tell us how we stop the big blue giants from stomping on my planet.”

“And if we refuse to come with you?” Loki asked, spotting men in black appearing in the stairwell, weapons pointed into the room.

“That is not an option.”

Steve took a step forward, the metal plates of his arm shifting much like the tail of a rattle snake shaking out its warning. Loki swiftly stepped in front of him, putting them both face to face, close enough to feel the heat pouring off Steve's body which seemed to be thrumming with anger. Loki could hear breaths being held behind him by Fury and his men, fingers on triggers, poised to pull. Loki gently placed his hand on Steve's arm. The plates shifted flat as Steve turned his head a fraction, eyeing the hand on his arm, before he looked up at Loki. Loki met Steve's questioning gaze and shook his head.

“Now is not the time. If they are to trust us, we must go without a fight,” he said quietly. Loki turned and looked at Fury. “Wouldn't you agree, Colonel?”

Fury, it seemed, was more interested with the proximity between Loki and Steve, scowling at the scene. He nodded and said, “Something along those lines.”

“Well, in that case, we will come peacefully. As friends,” Loki said. “I hope you'll treat us as such.”

# ***

Loki looked around the inside of the armoured vehicle, and then at Steve who was seated next to him on the same bench. “Not quite as friendly as I expected.”

Steve gave him a long a look, his mouth clamped shut in a straight line. He was adding two and two, jumping ahead to complex equations with that smart brain of his. Finally, calculation complete, he said, “You knew they were coming.”

Loki looked around the inside of the vehicle. They were alone, and no one had bothered with manacles or any kind of binding. Alone to speak freely, he thought with a smile. He sent out ripples of curiosity, magic that plucked at the air, tied waves into bows that vibrated nonsensically. It would register as mechanical interference, but give him and Steve some privacy _if_ they were being spied upon.

“I left Barton alone for a considerable amount of time,” Loki said, eyeing the soft shift of Steve's plating on his metal arm. “I expected... _hoped_ he might alert his friends to his escape and that they might pinpoint his whereabouts, and-”

“Come for him,” Steve finished. “Come to you.”

“Yes,” Loki said. “Once Barton has reported in full detail to Fury, perhaps he will see the value of us as allies.”

Steve tilted his head in a nod of strange agreement, looking at his fisted metal hand. “Once he stops seeing me as Hydra, and you as one of the invaders.”

“Barton has the recordings in his hand, which will serve as enough evidence to exonerate us both,” Loki said. “Fury will see that you were a powerless pawn in the hands of Hydra, and that my involvement is...circumstantial at best.”

“And then?” Steve asked.

Loki tilted his head in question. “I haven't thought that far.”

“Liar,” Steve said quite matter-of-factly.

Loki smiled at him and looked away, just as the doors to the vehicle opened and Wilson climbed in, closely followed by Romanoff. Wilson sat down on the bench opposite, facing Steve, and Romanoff opposite Loki. A moment later, the vehicle's engine thrummed to life and they begun to move. Loki smiled at Romanoff who was watching him openly, with an amused little smirk. When he looked at Wilson, he was as fixated with Steve's arm as Steve was by Wilson's shield.

“Loki,” Romanoff said blandly, almost like a thought spoken out loud. Her small mouth shifted further into its smirk. “Master of mischief. The trickster god. Right?”

Loki smiled at her. “ _Prince_ Loki.”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small book, a green volume with a gilded tree on the front. Loki knew the book. He had pulled away its torn paper covering and traced his fingers over the golden engraving against the green binding. It spoke of gods and monsters. One-eyed kings. Tricksters with mouths sewn shut.

“Looks like it's been well read,” Romanoff said. “Any good?”

“Derivative,” Loki answered, turning his gaze from her clever eyes to Wilson's intense look which was aimed at Steve's metal arm. “It's quite all right, Captain. I think the arm is unlikely to attack you of its own volition.”

Wilson glanced humourlessly at Loki before looking Steve in the eyes. “What about its owner? Last time I saw this guy he kicked me off a skyscraper. Cracked two ribs.”

Loki watched Steve's face, the moment of recognition, his eyes rounding, before regret coloured his whole face. “That was...that's not me anymore.”

Wilson's eyes lowered to his shield, and Loki thought he saw the sinking of squared shoulders. “No. No, I guess it isn't. No one's who they used to be. I'm not Falcon anymore. Bucky's not Captain America anymore. Tony's not alive anymore. Everything's different.”

“You have Hydra to thank for that,” Loki said. “I'm sure Barton's shown you the recordings. Steven is as much a victim of Hydra as your friends.”

Steve's whole face screwed up, eyes fixed on the floor. He shook his head. “That doesn't excuse anything. I did...I did things. Terrible things.”

“Against your will. Without your knowledge,” Loki said, seeking out Steve's evasive gaze. “As a prisoner.”

Steve looked at Loki, his eyes painfully bright. “But I did them.”

Loki found no words in response. Steve had chosen to carry this burden. A burden Loki couldn't force off his shoulders. Like him, Wilson and Romanoff were also staring at Steve, past the veil of suspicion. She looked away first, her forehead momentarily dented by a fleeting thought before she became unreadable again. Wilson though, there was something that shifted in his stern brown eyes, softening their gaze a little.

“Hydra...have a lot to answer for,” Wilson said roughly. “Including the deaths of our friends, if we're to believe you.” Wilson turned to look at Loki with silent accusation.

“My people mean you no harm,” Loki said.

“Your people are occupying Stark Tower and launching attacks using giants. I'm sorry how does that mean no harm?” Romanoff asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

Loki opened his mouth to explain and then let out a laugh. “I...married into the family. Technically, not _really_ my people.”

“I'm glad you find this funny,” Wilson said. “Hope it keeps you laughing in your cell when this is all over.”

“Is that where we're going? Prison?” Steve asked.

“That depends on whose side you're really on,” Wilson said, gaze travelling from Steve to Loki.

Loki smiled with amusement. “I am a god. I take no sides, but I may have the power to answer your prayers.”

Romanoff laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Right.”

Tilting his head at Romanoff, Loki grinned and said, “Go ahead. Say a little prayer.”

“This is who you trust?” Wilson asked. Loki turned his head to see Wilson's questioning gaze on Steve. “A guy who thinks a world on the verge of burning is a joke?”

Steve blinked at Wilson, no answer forthcoming, just stubbornness. It made anger prickle in Loki's chest, Steve being put on trial for Loki's words.

“You don't think the scramble to avoid being snuffed out funny?” Loki asked. “I think it's hilarious. So many people, so many mementos to what has been, and so much hope for what might be, all teetering on the edge of an abyss. You don't think it quite normal to laugh hysterically into that abyss? That's what I'm doing. Laughing myself sick. You see, my world is on the brink of destruction, and your world? Your chaotic little world could be the answer to the prayers of my people. It's so funny I may laugh myself to death. That it has come to this, gods crawling around in the dirt for their salvation.”

Wilson sighed, looking down at his shield. When Loki turned to look at Steve, all he saw were bright blue eyes trying to gaze right into the heart of him, locking him into place. It made his skin prickle with heat, his heart beat with strange panic. He was glad when Romanoff laughed and everyone looked to her.

“He's right,” she said, red lips framing a bright but strangely brittle grin. “It is pretty funny when you think about it.”

The humour, Loki thought, had finally left the situation. They travelled the rest of the way in silence.

# ***

The rest of the way comprised of being moved from the vehicle they were in to a small craft, too small to be called a ship. The last part of their destination was what Wilson referred to as _the carrier_ , which was too large to be considered a ship, Loki thought with some amusement. Of course he and Steve were separated immediately, both receiving a welcome from armed guards who escorted them to their individual cells. Loki's was a small room, which looked less like a cell, and more like temporary lodgings. He looked from the bed, to the television, to the small table with two chairs, and two armchairs facing each other in front of the television.

Loki looked in the direction of the doorway where Romanoff was watching him, Wilson having gone with Steve. “Décor up to your standard?”

Loki arched a brow at the mundane décor. “A splash of colour wouldn't go amiss.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked him.

 _Red like your ledger_ , Loki thought as whispers prodded at his mind, _green like a beast._

“Blue,” he said, like the Tesseract, which right now was thrumming so loud, Loki could feel it breathing slowly against the excited spikes of his magic. He grinned at Romanoff. “A vivid _bright_ blue.”

Romanoff was quiet, the corners of her mouth twitching. She nodded, and left without another word, the door closing on Loki. He gave the room another discrete look, seeing one monitoring device, and sensing another two. On the way to the bed, he noted with amusement the lack of mirrors. Barton, he thought with a pleased smile. He sat down on the edge of the bed, testing its firmness before he lay back.

Looking at the monitoring device in the corner of the ceiling, he started to pull at its strings, finding the path to tell it lies about what it could see. At the same time, the listening device bounced back pitches and tones known to Loki, which would help to report back through the very wiring that ran through the carrier, messages that could be sensed through waves hitting a shore of magical grains of sand. Once he would have the information needed, he would take a drink from the steel pitcher on the table that was polished so smooth, Loki could more than clearly make out his pleased reflection.


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn’t exactly like being in the same room, or even hearing it through a device meant for eavesdropping. It was more like being underwater, the sounds bulbous and distorted. Magic of course had a remedy. Loki closed his eyes, angling his head slightly. The universe was composed of waves and particles which could be plucked or flicked in countless ways to produce countless results. But it wasn’t something anyone could do. It required two main things: a deeper level of observation, and a knack for manipulation. It required a mind like Loki’s. Who else knew better the art of manipulation than one who had been manipulated by so many?

A tug on a stubborn string cleared the sound being broadcast out of the pitcher, whilst a flurry of particles convinced the devices set to spy on Loki that the echo of what had already been, was being seen and heard now. That Loki was being quite the perfect prisoner, lying still on his bed, doing nothing, and saying nothing.

A screech and ping emanated from the metal of the pitcher, bringing into focus the sound of Wilson’s voice. “...if I come in?”

Steve said nothing, but Wilson replied with thanks.

“How’s your friend?” Steve asked after an awkwardly long silence.

“Good. Doctors say whoever patched him up did a real great job. Guess we owe Loki one, whatever his reason might have been to save Clint’s life.”

Loki could almost feel the weight of Steve’s guilt in the stubborn silence that followed.

“Obviously, I can’t make you tell me what that reason might be, but I hope it’s not one that means I have to see more of my friends die.” Loki rolled his eyes. Emotional manipulation really was the least artistic form of manipulation. Useful though, Loki amended.

“I’m not sure you would believe me,” Steve said.

Wilson snorted. “Dude. I wrote a paper on you and the Howling Commandos in school, and not only did one of them become my close friend, I have the first Captain America standing right in front of me. You have no idea what I’m capable of believing these days. Try me.”

Something changed, particles wobbling, strings whipping out before Loki’s magic reined them back in. Loki angled his head at the pitcher, with the quiet thought, _Steven?_

“I think Loki...is looking for a place that doesn’t exist,” Steve said quietly. Loki sat up from where he had been lying on the firm bed.. “He’s trying to piece together a dream.”

“What does that mean?” Wilson asked with a careful tone.

“Meaning, if he thought he belonged in the tower, that’s where he’d be right now,” Steve answered.

“Why isn’t he in the tower?” Wilson asked. Steve was quiet and Loki sat waiting for him to reveal whatever his clever silences had picked up. “Those are his people in there, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes you can’t trust your own people,” Steve said.

Loki swallowed, turning away from the sound of Steve’s voice, feeling the taint of the Svartalfar, like inky fingerprints on his mind. They’d robbed him of his madness because Thor had thought it was the kind thing to do, but it had been _his_ madness, _his_ choice. He could have fixed it, given time, he could have fixed it himself, but no, Thor had to be lord and master of all.

“What about you? Do you trust Loki?” Wilson asked. Loki shook his head, eyes closed.

“Yes. I trust him,” Steve said.

“Steven,” Loki whispered as he stared at the pitcher. “You have no idea what a heavy burden you have placed on my shoulders.”

“Because he got you out of Hydra?” Wilson asked.

Steve was quiet for a moment, and it piqued Loki’s interest, making his heart thud heavily in his chest. Steve answered Wilson quietly, barely audible. “I feel like I know him. Maybe I don’t, but I…feel like I know him.”

“But you don’t,” Wilson said. “Do you? I mean, he’s as new to you as he is to the rest of us. Maybe right now it’s good time to be careful when it comes to who you trust.”

Steve let out a harsh laugh. “Careful? Look at me. Look at this. I have lost _everything_. I can’t remember things I want to, and I can’t forget the things I don’t want to remember. I am in a _nightmare_. Tell me, Captain, what am I supposed to be careful of? Loki? He’s about the only thing that makes sense right now.”

“ _That’s_ why you have to be careful,” Wilson said gently. “In a crazy situation, what you think makes sense, might not be as sensible as you think. I know what Hydra did to you. I’ve seen the footage, I’ve read the file. I know you have to be feeling messed up right now. But you know right and wrong. You know when it comes down to it, there’s a line that can’t be crossed.”

“I crossed it,” Steve said shakily. “I crossed it over and over.”

“That was not you, man,” Wilson said. “That was Hydra’s programming. Here, look at this. Tasha got a hold of your file. See that? That’s how many times you tried to run away. That’s how many times you broke through the programming, and turned your back on Hydra. Turned your back on what you knew was _wrong_.”

“So you want me to turn my back on Loki,” Steve said.

“That is not what I am saying,” Wilson said firmly. “What I _am_ saying is that Loki is a part of the invasion. Either he’s with them, or he knows how to stop them. Either way, I need to know what he wants. What he’s up to.”

The pitcher let out a sharp sound, a twang that was painfully high-pitched. Steve had gone quiet. Loki grinned, shaking his head.

“What?” Wilson asked. “You know something.”

Stubborn, guilt-ridden silence rolled off the pitcher. Go ahead, Loki thought, say it. It would change nothing.

“The Tesseract,” Steve said, and Loki grinned widely. “Loki wants the Tesseract.”

“Why?” Wilson asked.

“He says he can use it to save his world,” Steve answered.

“You believe him?” Wilson asked.

Loki tilted his head at the pitcher and waited until Steve answered, “I do.”

A buzz of distortion signalled Wilson’s scepticism. “Does he know where it is?”

“If he doesn’t, it won’t take him long to figure it out,” Steve said.

Loki stood up, taking a deep breath. Steve had changed Loki’s timetable substantially, but ultimately it meant nothing. The time for taking leisure in small games was over. He picked up the pitcher and threw the water inside it up in the air, holding up the finger of his other hand and suspending every particle of water. The air shimmered as the mist of water shifted, joined, and then stretched and stretched until there was an impossibly thin sheen hanging in the air, blade thin in width. When Loki moved closed, he smiled at his reflection in the pane of water. The trick of travel was if you could see yourself, you could see beyond yourself, and you could move yourself into the places you could see and hold in your mind. The mirror was just the easiest access points. A conjurer could find a reflection in a drop blood if it became necessary.

He couldn’t touch the pane though, not yet. Unlike a mirror, the watery reflection would drop moments after being touched, the particles remembering what they were, desiring to be free of the trick that had them fixed into this pretence. It all had to be timed ever so perfectly. Loki watched closely, images shimmering in the water, faces and places flicking quickly in front of his eyes. He saw into rooms of the carrier, through windows and through and metal, through anything capable of capturing a reflection. He traveled with the light that hit those surfaces, seeking out one thing and one thing only.

 _The Tesseract_ , Loki’s mind whispered over and over, a spell in itself, _the Tesseract._

The water shimmered green, sparkling the outline of a cube. Loki’s grin spread wide across his face.

_Take me to it._

The cube lines flashed, falling apart and building the image of a room, and shape within that room. A large shape that was not a human form. Loki tilted his head at the shape, and thought, yes, there you are, just as you should be. He reached out, his hand touching the water.

_I am there._

Loki stepped forward and looked behind at the large misted windows of the lab, rivulets of water running down the glass. Turning back he saw not the large form, but one man of insignificant size and shape in a white coat who had his back to Loki. The man had gone very, _very_ still. Loki would have only moments now, before his presence would be alerted to, his magic crackling in the copper wires of the carrier and running enough interference that someone would be surely realise that something was afoot.

The Midgardian turned and frowned at Loki. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Loki said, watching the green shadow behind him.

The man looked towards the door, and no doubt noticed guards on the other side who were having problems opening the doors, all the locks perfectly frozen. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“No,” Loki said, taking a step to the side, one that allowed him a look at the open black case that held the Tesseract. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

The man smiled, caution now having crept into his eyes too. “That’s very thoughtful. I’m sorry...who are you?”

“Loki of...well, it’s complicated,” Loki said with a grin. “You are Doctor Banner, are you not?”

“Doctor Bruce Banner, yes,” the scientist said. It was terrible that he couldn’t see his own beast, standing behind him, agitated and looking for the moment to come forth and just, oh, _smash_. Loki breathed in. The anger inside Banner was intoxicating.

“Can I help you with something?” Banner asked, his eyes flicking to the doors again.

“No,” Loki said, moving slowly, closer and closer. “I was rather hoping I could help myself. You see, I’ve come for the Tesseract.”

Banner grinned. “As much as I’m really loving your style here, that’s not going to happen. Who sent you? Hydra? You look too kooky to be Hydra, they’re just straight up assholes.”

“Actually, I’m not from around these parts,” Loki said, the Tesseract painfully close now.

Banner’s eyes widened in understanding. “Right. I don’t suppose you know anything about the blue guys currently breaking the city below, do you?”

“Yes, my sincere apologies. It’s all rather unfortunate,” Loki said, his breath catching in his chest as he reached out to take the Tesseract. His fingers were close, moving in.

A hand slapped tight around his wrist. Loki stared at it in surprise and then at Banner with a confused frown. When he looked back, the projected image of himself was still there in the middle of the room, where it had been talking to Banner. Loki blinked and his image disappeared.

“How did you know?” Loki asked, truly intrigued.

“I didn’t,” Banner said, his grip unnaturally tight around Loki’s wrist. Over Banner’s shoulder, a green shadow was glaring at Loki, and then grinning, promising pain. “Let’s just say I have a friend who noticed.”

“Fascinating,” Loki said, before using Banner’s grip on him to pull him close, and slip a sharp blade into his side. Banner stumbled back, his hand going to the wound, fingers coming away bloody. “But unfortunately, I’m on a tight schedule, and I need to create a distraction. That’s you by the way. Sorry about that. Just a scratch. You’ll be fine.”

Banner was breathing hard. When he looked up, the hue of his skin had changed, and there was something bright and furious in his eyes. When he spoke, it was with _his_ voice, the monster. “You won’t.”

Loki grimaced. “I thought you might say that.”

Loki snatched the Tesseract just as Banner transformed before him into a hulking beast who roared so loud, surely everyone on the carrier had heard it. He reared forward and roared at Loki. Loki opened his mouth to rebuke, but a vague memory somewhere in his mind made his bones ache. The beast was a match for the gods. Loki moved towards the window only to see a table go flying right through it. Loki looked back at the incredible green beast, waiting for the moment of his escape.

The beast tilted his head at Loki, his huge brow furrowing deep, before he lunged forward. Loki grinned, jumping out of the way and letting the beast build a new doorway in the wall of the lab, through which Loki ran, along with several images of himself that confused the guards. Outrunning the beast and guards would not be an issue as long as he could find himself a doorway out. His mind was already prepared. A mirror would be perfect now, hard and solid, holding his image as he stepped through.

Loki conjured a plume of smoke that confused both guards and beast, who was smashing a trail of destruction as it tried to catch a hold of Loki. Loki opened his hand to conjure ice daggers, but grimaced and closed his hands into fists. There were Avengers on this carrier. Ice in the equipment could make the whole thing plummet like a rock, taking Earth’s mighty heroes with it. Taking Steve with it. Steve who _trusted_ Loki. Loki growled in frustration and skidded around a corner, and through a door. A room with facilities, a medical table, a chair, an inner room with a sink. A _mirror_ over the sink. Loki smashed his palm against the mirror, looked straight into the eyes of his reflection as everything around him was smashed apart by a green fist.

# ***

That had been close. The mirror smashing as he moved through, the path of travel disjointed and lengthier than it should have been, depositing him somewhere unknown. He had blacked out and now lay on damp earth, trying to lift his leaden body. It took a few moments, but he finally managed to sit up, stunned into stillness when he saw his surroundings. He was in the middle of a circular cave, the walls of which were adorned with full length mirrors, all of them showing him that fraudulent reflection of his with the black hair and green tinted eyes.

He pulled himself up on his feet, looking around the cave. The mirrors were held in golden frames, and the earth under Loki’s feet had a tint of red. It had felt soft against his fingers when he had woken up, smooth instead of grainy, like clay not dirt. Loki rubbed at an ache in his shoulder, turning in a circle to find no way in or out of the cave. Loki frowned, all the reflections in the cave frowning back at him. Looking up, he found the ceiling of the cave decorated in black runes. Not painted or inked, but burned black. The runes had been working once, casting a spell over the cave. Loki squinted, trying to pick apart the densely packed scrawls, dark against the dark ceiling.

He looked away, pondering the cave’s purpose. It didn’t matter. He had other things to do. The cave would have to remain a mystery for the moment. Loki held up his palm, crossing it with his other palm and retrieving the Tesseract from a pocket of space that was locked to him and him alone. The Tesseract glowed brightly in his hand, thrumming with power. He could disappear somewhere with it, delve into its secrets, wield its power beyond the mundane use of it as just an energy source. The Tesseract myths promised even the power to warp reality beyond just the simple re-shaping of space. Loki felt an intense hunger for it, everyone else be damned.

Perhaps he would have followed the compulsion too, but he had looked up and seen something in the mirrors that suddenly made him forget the power of the Tesseract. Every mirror had a reflection of Loki that differed. They all held the Tesseract, but in one mirror it was held by a small boy dressed in gold, green and black, with a mop of black hair, and in another it was a woman with generous curves,, the golden horns of her helmet long and sharp. In another he saw a withered old man with a scarred face, and madness in his poison green eyes. The one he walked towards was different to all the mirrors though. It was completely void of a reflection.

He moved towards the empty mirror, and a reflection appeared when he was almost within touching distance, in the form of a flash of red and a meaty fist punching the other side of the glass. Loki jumped back in shock when he saw the yellow hair and the panicked blue eyes. The mouth was calling out a name that Loki could see, but not hear. His name, on Thor’s lips. Loki felt his hands tremble and he hid away the Tesseract. The reflections flickered and changed back to that reflection which had appeared in the tower, the reflection that tormented him in every mirror. Except in this one mirror where Thor had a moment ago seemed to be trying to smash his way out into the cave. In this mirror, Loki saw himself. He saw the yellow of his hair, the blue of his eyes, and colour in his cheeks. And it seemed all wrong.

_Loki._

Loki spun around, only to see the room full of reflections staring back in fear.

_Loki._

Loki looked at every reflection. He wanted to ask what was happening, but there was no one here with answers. Just him and his reflections. A sharp jolt of pain rain through his chest. Loki pressed his palm against it, the pain emanating from his shoulder. There was a metallic taste in his mouth too, like blood, and cold had started to creep up his legs, as if his feet were in ice. He couldn’t think straight between the pain in his body, and the splintering in his mind,

_What’s the matter? No more tricks up that sleeve?_

Loki gasped, looking up to find he had fallen to his knees, his body shaking. Every nerve in his being screamed danger. He somehow forced his watery legs to work, stumbling in the direction of the one mirror that had held his true form. He fell against it, close to his reflection, looking into his own pained eyes. He pressed his palm against the glass, and though his head was now pounding in pain, and his vision was blurring, he looked into the mirror and into all mirrors, seeking out the reflections of those who passed by, catching their forms in his mind and flicking through them in the blink of an eye.

 _Thor_ , his mind called out. _Help me._

The mirror cracked, but he felt himself travel. That was wrong too. Fine-tuned magic should have been as fast thought. He should have stepped onto the other side as if walking through a door. But he felt the twisting of space as it squeezed him through its velvety layers to deposit him far from the cave. He landed in agony, in enough pain that it forced a painful groan from him.

“Loki!” Thor fell beside Loki, dragging him onto his lap and holding him close, a heavy hand gently cupping Loki’s face. He was frowning down at Loki in confusion. “What have you done?”

Loki shook his head, not enough energy to explain that he had no idea as to what had just happened. All he knew was that Thor and he could be at complete odds, and still the safest place for him would always be by Thor’s side. With that in mind, he let the prodding blackness take him and closed his eyes.

# ***

He dreamed strange dreams that night. He was back in that hall of mirrors, this time stuck in the middle, the mirrors spinning around him. His heart spun too, in panic and fear. He tried to call out for Thor, but as it happened even in the dreams of gods, he had no voice. So he laughed instead, muffled and manic, and as he laughed, out they all came, every shard of other worlds, all accosting him with other lives, and other hims. They flashed so fast in his mind, either he would wake and scream himself into oblivion, or his heart would simply collapse under the weight of the things his mind could see but not contain. _Dark magic,_ the voice of Odin travelled across the dunes of all the those realities sitting side by side, their sands shifting sometimes, playing tricks on the mind. _Dark magic, it leaves a mark._

Loki’s fingers tingled. He looked at them, turning his hands and looking at his palms, burnt black, skin cracked. They looked like dead branches, not the hands of a magic wielding god. He felt their heat travelling up his arms, spreading under his skin. A twisting beast laughed in front of him, its venom burning him from the inside out. So much pain that it turned his vision bright red. _Snow_ , his mind madly repeated, _snow._ Or was the cooling of blue eyes he was searching, cool and yet still filled with the warmth of worry. 

Loki awoke with a jolt and a gasp, lying still as the embers of his dream died. He looked towards moonlight that permeated the windows, disappointed to see the portion of the Midgardian sky allotted to the view outside his bedroom in Stark Tower. A hand touched his cheek, and he jerked away. Thor was sitting in bed beside him, eyes dark with concern in yellow lamplight.

“Tis only I,” he said quietly, reaching out again. He frowned. “You are too warm to the touch, Loki.”

“I’m fine,” Loki said, but not pulling away from Thor’s cool touch.

“Perhaps I should have Laufey brought.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” Loki said, sitting up and aiming a threatening glare at Thor. “If you care at all for what I think, you will not bring him here.”

“If you are sick-”

“I would rather die,” Loki said with a brittle smile. “Than have him save my life.”

“He is your father,” Thor said, a little too stern for Loki’s liking, as if he suddenly knew all there was to know about the worth of a father.

“Is he?” Loki asked.

“He is the only father you have left,” Thor said, gentler.

“Why are you here?” Loki asked tiredly.

Thor shook his head, brow furrowing with annoyance. “Perhaps for the same reason that you called for me in your delirium.”

“I did not,” Loki said, even his sneer lacking any heat or energy.

“You clung to me,” Thor said, looking somewhat proud of the fact. “As a child clings to its mother.”

Loki shook his head, laughing. “Did I now?”

“It was frightening,” Thor said quietly. When Loki looked at Thor, some of that fright seemed to be there still, interrupted by a fragile smile. “I always thought you would only ever reveal the extent of your love for me if you were forced into it, or perhaps if you were dying.”

Loki let out a huff of a laugh at that, looking down at his unscarred hands. He smiled at Thor. “Looks like the son of Odin can see further than what some might presume.”

Thor pointed at his face. “Two eyes. Helps.”

Loki stared and then let out a laugh, genuinely humoured and surprised. Thor, being the opportunist that he was, moved closer and gently held Loki by the chin, pressing a kiss to his mouth. _Brothers_ , Loki’s mind supplied him, _we were meant to be brothers._ But they weren’t. That relationship had been stolen from them both. They were what their fathers had made them.

“What is it?” Thor asked, when Loki remained unmoving against the proffered kiss. Loki shook his head, to which Thor nodded and pressed bodily against him, until he lay atop Loki.

They helped to undress each other, both their night clothes loose and easy to cast aside. Naked, Thor slipped between Loki’s thighs and they lay rutting against each other, their kisses hungry and desperate. It was Thor who slipped inside Loki, thick and hard, a presence that was both painful and pleasurable, keeping Loki hard, but just far enough from the edge of release. Loki lay his hands all over Thor’s body, squeezing thick thighs and buttocks, smoothing his palms across the hard planes of his torso. He tangled his fingers in Thor’s dark hair, grabbing a handful and pulling hard so he could move Thor’s mouth from his throat to his lips. A part of him wished Sif could see this, and feel that pang of envy that Loki so often felt, but as Thor thrust in and out of Loki, his firm hand wrapped hard around Loki’s cock, that thought fled his mind.

“Why do we,” Thor panted against Loki’s jaw, “why do we fight so much?”

“Because I loathe you,” Loki answered, voice cracking and strangled. Thor’s hand around Loki’s cock tightened, hips snapping and driving his own into Loki’s body, driving a pleasured moan out of his mouth.

“Liar,” Thor growled, jerking his head against the loosening hold of Loki’s fingers in his hair, holding Loki down and thrusting slowly, setting Loki’s nerves alight from being filled so completely.

“Thor!” Loki cried, both in complaint and demand. Thor covered Loki’s mouth and Loki drank up the kisses, hooking one leg over Thor’s hip, relishing the feel of Thor’s hand gripping his thigh.

They stayed like that for the longest time, Thor thrusting in and out, almost leisurely, as if his pleasure came from the keening sounds Loki was making, his cock having dripped, come, and dripped and come between them several times, their stomachs covered in the mess of Loki’s releases, whilst Thor refused to reach completion, slowing and speeding up, watching Loki with an almost smug smile. Fine, Loki thought, Thor could have this victory between them. He was always the better fighter here.

Thor came once Loki’s body had been completely wrung by pleasure, pressing in close, his thick arm wrapped all the way around Loki’s head, his fingers in Loki’s hair. A few hard motions driven deep, and Thor came with a guttural growl, spilling generously, even as he left Loki’s body, painting his thigh. Loki didn’t move for a long time. The energy it took to roll onto his side seemed to deplete him of all that he had left. He lay there with his eyes drifting shut, his mind a blank and calm space. He thought he could even feel the buzzing spaces between every atom of his sated body. In this moment, there was no reality but this one, the reality of his singing body.

Thor pressed up close behind him, his body a furnace against Loki’s back. He was nuzzling the nape of Loki’s neck, his palm smoothing down Loki’s side. “Your skin feels less heated.”

Loki let out a quiet lazy laugh. “Yes. Healed by the Odinson’s cock.”

Thor’s laugh rumbled in his chest like the quiet roll of thunder before rain. He pressed closer, shifting so Loki could feel the said semi-hard cock prodding between his cheeks. Against his will, Loki laughed, closing his eyes and making the most of the calm. Thor wrapped his arm around Loki’s shoulders, settling with a sigh.

“I don’t... _loathe_ you,” Loki mused quietly.

“Hmm,” Thor responded, rocking lazily against Loki. “No. Not all the time.”

Loki nodded, reaching up to close his hand around Thor’s wrist. “Not all the time.”

“Well,” Thor whispered, “I would have your loathing than nothing of you at all. Just as you would have my rage than nothing at all. Hmm?”

“Such wisdom, Odinson,” Loki said, ignoring the truth of the remark. Thor’s hold tightened fractionally.

“Wise enough to know that your mirror magic will be the end of you one day,” Thor said. “You did not see yourself when I found you.”

“A minor hiccup in the pursuit of a greater goal,” Loki said. Thor’s silence was expectant. “The Tesseract.”

The arm around Loki disappeared and he found himself being sharply pulled about, landing on his back with Thor looking down at him with an intrigued smile. “You know where it is.”

Loki smiled, watching his hand smooth up Thor’s arm to his shoulder, and around the back of his neck, pulling him down. “Let’s just say, it’s practically within your reach.”


	17. Chapter 17

Loki slept heavily, and without worry. The King of Asgard had kept a pact made a long time ago on Jotunheim. Next to him, Loki could always sleep without fear of being trapped in nightmares. Thor would always be there to save him from the terrors of his own mind. Things between Loki and Thor had never been easy, but the Asgardian always kept his word. It meant that Loki could face his nightmares, knowing there was a lifeline. When he stepped into that cave through the mirror of his mind, though his heart beat quick, he was unafraid.

Visions and dreams were neighbours in the mind of one who could see beyond realms. Things which were looked upon awake, could be revealed in sleep. Loki took a step and saw again the red dirt under his boot. He looked at his hand and the dirt was there, smudged across his fingers, its grains too fine. Above Loki, the runes were charcoal black. _Reveal_ Loki ordered, and they burned orange as if someone had blown on burning embers. Loki squeezed his eyes open and shut several times, but the runes remained nonsensical in his dreamscape, almost dizzying to look at.

He looked away and turned around. And around. And around. Everything was the same in every direction. No way out, no way in. Now way to determine where he was. Every mirror showing him the lying reflection. Of course, there had been one mirror, hadn’t there, one that showed him something else. Loki held up the Tesseract, and turned in a slow circle, stopping when he found the empty mirror. It wasn’t empty though, was it? It was empty only from where Loki stood. Were he to move closer, he would see something. See someone. So why not move closer, he asked himself, when his feet took him a step back. No, he thought, and turned around, finding darkness, within which was a familiar figure. Steve Rogers.

He was hard to make out, as if hidden behind a black mesh veil. Loki looked down at himself and saw the Tesseract glowing inside his chest, instead of in his hand. _Show me_ he urged the cube. Glimpses were all he caught of pale skin and smudges of red, of a star surrounded by blue, the yellow of Steve’s hair. Loki reached out as if might be able to pull the veil completely away, but as his fingers twitched, he felt the squeeze of a hand on his shoulder. Loki frowned, his head snapping to the side, before he twisted around, pulling away from the touch, only to find Thor before him, blue eyes shining like bright stars, golden hair about his shoulders, and red cape whipping about his body.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice strange and distorted. “Loki.”

“Thor,” Loki whispered. Thor smiled at him, looking hopeful. He swallowed and held out his hand. Loki frowned at the proffered hand, and then at Thor.

“Loki,” Thor said, with a touch of desperation. “Please.”

Loki reached out and placed his hand in Thor’s. Every mirror smashed, and Loki felt his heart stop.

Loki awoke with a sharp intake of breath, his heart thumping herd in his chest. Sleep, he thought, was becoming a nuisance. He looked down at his hand to see it clutching Thor’s. Thor was sat by his side, already dressed, and looking steeped in thought.

“It’s all right. You were dreaming,” he said quietly, making no move to let go of Loki’s hand. “Fandral says there is a matter I must attend to, but I can stay a while.”

“I wouldn’t dare to stand in the way of important matters,” Loki said, and gently pulled on his hand, but Thor’s grip had become firm. Loki arched a brow. “What’s the matter? Worried I’ll run away?”

Thor smiled. “Always.”

“Where would I go?” Loki asked. The dark of Thor’s eyes concealed the cogs of his mind as he thought over Loki’s question.

Thor looked down at Loki’s hand, before setting it down. Moving his gaze slowly to Loki’s eyes, he said, “Anywhere your mirrors can take you.”

Loki sat up, leaning closer to Thor and nodding. “Including to your precious Tesseract.”

They were close enough for a kiss, Thor’s eyes flicking to Loki’s mouth and back up. But all he offered was a smile. “ _My_ precious Tesseract. After you’ve exhausted your curiosity, no doubt.”

Loki sat back against the pillows, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile of his own. “You know, sometimes I think you might have three eyes.”

“I have many eyes. You are one of them Loki. The one that blinds me the easiest when it closes.” Thor stood up, aiming a bemused look at Loki. “We will talk later. Rest that mind of yours until then.”

Loki watched him leave, amused by the notion of rest. There was no rest, not for him. Not with the Tesseract pulsing away in front of him. It may have been invisible to the eye, but he could feel it, the layer as thin as an onion skin between this dimension and the pocket of space that held the Tesseract. Loki climbed out of bed and went to wash away the mess of the night spent with Thor, and soothe the ache of the tumultuous travel between the carrier and the tower. Having bathed, he dressed in simple shirt and trousers, more suited to sleep than waking, and covered the offence with a glamour of something more becoming a prince consort.

The mirror he had taken from Sif was still there in all its cracked glory, Steve’s impossible mirror which managed to exist in two places at once. Even as a mirror walker, Loki had not even begun to get to the bottom of this mystery. This was also the mirror that had distorted all his reflections, showing another Loki, one filled with more dark intent. Or for all he knew, perhaps less. This was also the mirror where he had seen Thor the first time, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, an inversion of the Asgardian king. He seemed more enraged than Loki had ever seen Thor. Loki stared at the mirror, and from around the cracks, his dark reflection stared back.

Loki stepped close, his fingers hovering over the cracks that ran through the glass, but not touching. The cave, he thought at the mirror, what is it? Where is it? Show me its purpose. The mirror blinked and multiple images of the cave appeared, a different one started wherever a crack ran through the glass of the mirror. It was dizzying, a mirror showing a cave with more mirrors. Loki’s vision blurred and he thought he was looking at a mirror covered in dirt red moths. He stepped away, swallowing, managing a hiss of _no more._ Loki stood leaning by the wall for a moment, hand covering his untrustworthy mouth, something heavy rolling in the pit of his stomach.

With a sigh, he pushed away from the wall, taking a sterner stance before the mirror. He held the magic, the mirror was just a thing. To fear it was nonsensical. Whatever its mysteries, Loki had the ability to unlock them. He had seen his counterparts in realm atop realm, scheming, outsmarting, and surviving. He could be like them all. In fact, he _was_ them. The Tesseract safe from sight said that he was one of them. He had found that cosmic jewel so many hungered after, and frankly, it had been easy. Loki smiled, and it looked perfect on the face of his grinning reflection. For a moment, Loki wondered if it was a reflection at all, and whispered, _speak. Speak if you can_.

No. Perhaps that had been wishful thinking. Loki let out a small laugh. “Mad after all.”

He turned away, lightly knocking his fisted hand against his chest, as if the Tesseract was in fact nestled inside his chest. Thor was right. Loki would exhaust his curiosity before handing it over. Asgard was falling, but it still had some time, little though it was. Loki left the rooms given to him and headed to a large communal space two floors down. On the occasion that Loki had asked to be sent to Asgard so he could consult his books, Thor had instructed his minions to dump Loki’s entire collection in the room, presenting it as a surprise of sorts, and not at all his power over Loki. They had been brought in their solid oak shelves, making the Midgardian room look odd with its glass and sleek stone, the space filled with Asgardian bookshelves, some furniture and tapestries. It appeared that Thor believed any problem could simply be covered in an ornate tapestry.

Loki looked through his shelves, picking out the tomes he thought might be of some use, none of them likely to reveal the real secrets of such ancient things. Placing them on a table, he took one and fell onto a wide couch, lying on his side, propped up on an elbow as he opened the book and went through it leaf by leaf. This was a compendium composed by the keeper of the library during the time of Bor, painstaking in its detail, the illustrations inked in deep colours. Its scribe had made it her life’s work to create records of all magical objects of the realm, and magical objects known to the realm. This library that Thor had so happily brought to Midgard, was quite the treasure in itself.

Loki shifted and something glinted in the corner of his eye. He craned his neck to see a partially covered mirror in its wooden stand. Loki could just make out a corner filled with runes hastily scribbled onto the glass. Calculations, his memory supplied him, not conjuring. He went towards the mirror all the same, tome in hand. Pulling the sheet away, he cast an eye over the runes he had scribbled. Magic to mend a crack that would destroy a realm. He had tried to cancel out the dark magic at play, tried to neutralise it completely, tried to take control. The crack could be brought under control, but not with the time that they had left. The manically written tiny runes would remain unfinished.

He went back to the table, continuing to leaf through more books, stopping when he found pages on so-called cosmic cubes. As Loki turned the pages, he hoped the Tesseract would appear in the list of these cubes that contained vast amounts of energy, constrained by powerful magic to remain within in their boundaries. Loki stroked his hand down the illustration of a red cube, a green cube, a white cube, and a cube that was not a cube at all, but a sphere that had escaped its cube form. None of these items had been held by the scribe, the information in the pages coming from the accounts of others, who had perhaps heard from others, and so on and so forth-

 _The Tesseract_.

Loki smoothed the page out and leaned in close. For a second hand account, the illustration had provided a fine rendering of the cube. The Tesseract was said to hold an eternal power at its heart, a power that could be stripped out, but not without risk of creating much destruction. Its power was tied down and wrapped inside the cube with great skill. The Tesseract, it was said, could warp reality itself. Loki frowned, re-read the passage that spoke of myths surrounding the cube’s power to alter reality, until he was sure he had read what he thought he had read. That it contained enough energy to open a portal in space, that was something he knew, but that it could change reality itself...well, that was interesting.

Loki looked at the last page on the Tesseract and sat back, scratching at the corner of his mouth in thought, before deciding on ripping the necessary pages out. He looked over the torn pages again, slowly and thoroughly, all the way through until his mind had captured an image of every word and illustration. When he was done, he clicked his fingers, bringing to life a small flame that quickly consumed the pages. There really was no need for anyone else to know what the Tesseract was capable of. The pages having turned to ashes, Loki flexed his fingers and the fire was gone. Biting the corner of his lip, his attention returned to the mirror, and the reshaping of realities. What a way to destroy enemies, and elevate friends.

Loki eyed the mirror, seeing his thoughtful expression reflected back. What friends do you want to elevate, it seemed to ask? Loki sighed, going to the mirror and tracing a rune with his finger. As he waved the runes out of sight, but not away, he may have laughed at himself as he murmured, “Weak. Terribly, terribly weak.”

He whispered the simple spell of vision, one mirror to another, seeking a face in his mind. After a moment of shimmering the mirror became shadowy, like a dark doorway. There were no lights in the room he was looking into. Just enough light from a television outlining Steve’s form as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring directly into the mirror. He was frowning at himself, deep in thought. He looked away from the mirror and at his metal arm, opening and closing his fist. His fist was still clenched when he looked back at the mirror and Loki expected that at some point both mirror and fist might meet.

“I wouldn’t. A good mirror is hard to find,” Loki said softly. Steve’s expression changed from the hopeless look of moments ago to surprise. He got up, stepping close to the mirror and scowling at Loki. “Hello, Steven.”

“Loki,” Steve whispered. He paused in thought and said, “You have it then.”

“Yes,” Loki said. “I have it. I hope I didn’t cause too much-”

“Banner’s missing,” Steve said, looking just a touch annoyed, enough to cause a slight paper cut pain across Loki’s chest. How quickly heroes recovered their outrage.

“Banner’s beast will keep him safe,” Loki said. “He was the safest diversion.”

“Right,” Steve said. “What about me? Was I diversion too?”

“No. You are...a distraction,” Loki mused. “Of a whole other kind.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me what you were planning?”

“I could not have them thinking you were conspiring with me,” Loki said.

Steve looked confused. “Why?”

Loki held his hand up and pressed it against the glass. After a moment, Steve did the same, his flesh hand rising to meet Loki’s as Loki watched it and murmured, “Sentiment, Steven. Sentiment.”

Loki’s fingers curled slowly, feeling the push and stretch of space, entwining with Steve’s. Steve frowned, looking at their hands, and in the moment he turned his gaze at Loki in confusion, Loki pulled him forward hard, the jolt of travel propelling Steve straight into an embrace. Loki shook his head and sighed. “Damn it.”

“What?” Steve asked, making no move to separate himself from Loki’s hold on him.

“The right thing,” Loki mused, “is terribly hard to do.”

“The right thing?” Steve asked, his eyes lowered to Loki’s mouth, his hand comfortable on Loki’s waist.

“You being with the Avengers,” Loki said. “You destroying Hydra. You getting your revenge and your life back.”

Loki was surprised when Steve brought up his metal hand and gently touched his thumb to Loki’s jaw, the whirr of shifting metal plates loud in Loki’s ear. “The life I want back is gone.”

“But Hydra aren’t,” Loki said. “Don’t you want to smash them to little pieces?”

“So help me,” Steve said. “I’m not an Avenger. I’m not Hydra. I’m not sure what I am. What I do know is…”

Loki greedily waited as Steve swallowed, stopping and clamping his mouth shut, jaw clenched tight. “What? What do you know?”

Steve didn’t speak. He leaned in and kissed Loki, both his arms tight around Loki’s back. Loki gripped him, kissing back with hunger and thirst. They stumbled their way to the generous Asgardian couch.

“What?” Loki asked as Steve pulled back, his face flushed pink.

Steve shook his head. “The only time all this isn’t a nightmare...is when I’m with you.”

Loki swallowed, pulling Steve close. Steve held on with fisted hands, gripping Loki’s clothes taut as they both kissed, unhurried and exploring. The sound of ripping signalled that Loki’s clothing wasn’t quite robust enough for the grip of a metal hand. Loki dropped his glamour, letting Steve find the true edges of his clothing. Not that Loki was sure of what Steve wanted. He seemed content with kissing, nuzzling, touching Loki, holding him.

Loki brought a hand up to cup his cheek, murmuring. “What do you want, Steven? Ask for whatever it is you want.”

Steve asked for nothing, but his body shifted until Loki could feel Steve hard against the bulge in his own trousers. Steve pressed a long and soft kiss against Loki’s mouth, his hips moving slightly, seeking out friction against Loki. Loki snaked a hand down between them, hooking his thumb into the waistband of Steve’s jeans.

“Here, let me open this,” Loki said. Steve looked down at Loki’s hand and nodded. There it was again, that terrible burden of trust, this soldier, this once Hydra machine, almost trembling as Loki undressed him. Loki shuffled partly out of his own clothes too, asking Steve, “Help me.”

Steve managed to tug off Loki’s shirt, and his trousers, leaving them both naked. Steve had a red flush that reached all the way to his chest, all the way to those terrible scars where he ended and Hydra begun. Loki reached out to touch the skin that looked sore and inflamed. Steve grabbed his hand, metal fingers closing tight around Loki’s.

“Does it hurt?” Loki asked.

Steve nodded. “All the time.”

Steve let go of Loki’s hand, and Loki didn’t touch that no-man’s land of scars where Steve’s body was forcibly melded to the arm. Instead he reach out and put his hand on the metal bicep, closing around the plates which shifted, and smoothed out, pulling Steve a little closer. He smoothed his hand up to Steve’s shoulder, up the side of his neck, watching Steve arch into the touch. Loki frowned at the realisation that no one had touched Steve like this in a long time, to give pleasure, to incite desire.

Steve turned his face into Loki’s palm, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, his breath hot against Loki’s skin. Loki let his hand trail down, fingers playing across Steve’s lips, catching the wetness of his tongue. Loki lurched up and caught Steve’s mouth, delving his tongue slowly into Steve’s mouth, inviting him to do the same, inviting him to take what he felt like. If Steve’s hard cock prodding in the crease of Loki was anything to go by, it seemed Steve was getting exactly what he wanted. Loki reached down as they exchanged a few breathless open-mouthed kisses, Steve tensing as Loki’s palm pressed against his cock.

Loki withdrew it. “It’s fine. I can-”

Steve took his hand, tentatively guiding it back to where Loki had removed it, watching when Loki touched him, and stroked him. Steve pressed his forehead to Loki’s temple, breathing hotly against his cheek as Loki took Steve’s cock in a firm grip, his hand moving at an even pace. Steve made little noise, no loud grunts or growls like Thor, no such performative expressions. His eyes were squeezed shut, the tendons of his neck pulled taut, and broken sounds occasionally escaping him amongst the many gasps. His lay across Loki, one hand fisted against the couch cushion, the other gripping the back of the couch as Loki worked him to climax. When he came, it was with a hard jolt of his hips, after which he collapsed against Loki, hips stuttering in the aftermath.

Chest to chest, Loki could feel Steve’s heart galloping behind his ribs. His whole body was burning hot against Loki’s, every inch of his skin covered in sweat, both his and Loki’s. Loki combed his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, down to the nape of his neck. Turning his head, Loki pressed his mouth against Steve’s ear. “Steven?”

Steve remained quiet and still for a while, before finally lifting his head and looking into Loki’s eyes. From this close, Loki could count all the lashes that made Steve’s eyes look as if someone had lined them with black. Their shadow fell long across his cheek, pointing towards the full bow of his mouth. Loki touched the corner of Steve’s mouth, pressing one kiss, and another, and a third. On the fourth, Steve tilted his head and drew Loki into a deeper kiss, their bodies turning towards each other on the couch, as they lay side by side. Steve’s flesh hand inserted itself between Loki’s thighs, doing for Loki what Loki had done for him, his grasp a little unsure, a little clumsy. Exquisite all the same, the touch of Steve’s battle-hardened hands trying to gently make Loki come. Exquisite and tortuous. Loki came with a long and drawn out moan, his arm wrapped around Steve’s metal shoulder, perhaps the only unyielding place that was fit for Loki’s hold at that moment.

Loki slumped back, letting a smile spread across his face as he looked across the room, spotting a red throw over a chair. He beckoned it and it disappeared from the chair, slowly appearing over his and Steve’s bodies. Loki ran his hand down Steve’s side, pushing the throw down to the jut of his hip, wanting to touch him now that he freely could. Steve’s stillness alerted Loki to the fact that he was being closely scrutinised. He looked up locking eyes with Steve.

Unlike with Thor, Loki found himself lost for words. There were no faux complaints, nothing flippant he wanted to say to cancel out the shame of always succumbing to the desire he felt for Thor. Loki’s mouth was sealed shut, voice trapped in Steve’s gaze. Steve too was watching Loki as if trying to solve a puzzle. The spell broke with the clang of metal on stone. A golden pitcher struck the floor, spilling red wine as it went. Loki and Steve sat up to see Thor in the doorway, looking at Steve with murder in his eyes.

“When you are finished, get rid of him,” Thor told Loki without looking at him, “or _I_ will get rid of him.”

Thor stalked off without another word as Loki sat there staring at the fallen pitcher, quietly murmuring, “Pity about the wine. I rather think we could do with a drink.”


	18. Chapter 18

Thor’s moods were changeable. He had made his commandment and walked away, jealousy and anger hot in his eyes. There was every chance that by the time he reached his throne, he would want more than just to be rid of Steve. It was why Loki had gotten up and gathered Steve’s clothes, shoving them at the soldier with a single word: “Dress.”

Loki dressed swiftly, his glamour less regal and more in preparedness for a confrontation. He went to his mirror, finding a safe haven. When he turned to look at Steve, the Midgardian was dressed, but stood there with a stubborn set to his mouth. It appeared he was more than ready for a confrontation. In fact, it seemed he was waiting for it.

“What?” Loki said. Steve shook his head, keeping his judgement to himself. Loki let out a bitter laugh. “Everybody’s a critic. Are you coming?”

Steve gave Loki a stiff nod and followed. Seconds later, they stood on the other side of the mirror and in the dark room from where Loki had been plucked Steve, the television still on, a square of light spilling in their direction. Steve sat down on the edge of the bed, the blues of his eyes sparkling in the light of the television.

“Are we running?” Steve he asked.

“No. We are hiding. To be precise, I am hiding _you_ from Thor,” Loki said. “If you remain in the tower, you will end up a prisoner. I think you have been a prisoner long enough. Don’t you?”

“I’ve had other people making my choices for me long enough too,” Steve said.

“And what would you choose now?” Loki asked, a little harshly perhaps.

Steve got up abruptly, almost making Loki jump. But the attack that came was a kiss, hard and demanding. When they pulled apart, Steve asked, “What do you want, Loki? What do you want from me?”

Loki’s heart thumped heavily with yearning as he pulled away and looked at Steve through a blurring gaze. He pasted on a grin and said, “Nothing. I got what I wanted.”

He turned around and slapped his hand against the mirror, a whisper on his lips. Just as the mirror started to give under his palm he heard Steve call him, “Liar.”

Loki smiled and stepped into the tower, turning to see Steve on the other side, watching him with an unreadable look on his face. Loki snapped his fingers and closed the connection, standing there afterwards and just staring at that reflection of his. Fate, it seemed, had trapped him in this tower, cursed to raise armies and lose wars on Midgardian ground. Any sense of freedom was temporary. With that in mind, he went to meet his king.

# ***

Infidelity, someone had once drunkenly laughed at a banquet, was the privilege of the king. Loki was not yet betrothed to Thor, but the proceedings leading up to the betrothal had begun with short visits to Asgard, his presence being introduced through the maIn festivities that took place in the golden realm. During one raucous night, Loki had tired of watching the Asgardians eat, drink and make merry, getting drunker as the night went on. So he retreated into the comfort of shadows, slipping away from the main hall.

He had been walking through the cloisters, looking out at a sky that even at night was bright, lit up by a canopy of stars. In that suffusion of pink and purple night, Jotunheim shone amongst those stars, an unidentifiable pinprick of light, its cold and darkness hidden from view. Someone laughed in the gardens, a man with a deep voice, and it prompted a woman’s bird like laughter.

“Shh,” the woman said. “Someone will hear you?”

“What of it? I’m sure everyone knows,” came the drunken reply. “Kings and queens would not have separate chambers otherwise, would they?”

“Queen Frigga was so beautiful. How could All-Father even look in the direction of another?”

“Ha. Maybe he used his blind eye. Trust me, my dear. I have heard the stories of Odin’s conquests. It would make the boldest of men blush.”

It was just as Loki thought the conversation too dangerous for a drunk man that he heard the sudden stop of boots on stone, and turned to find Thor frowning at the too talkative bushes.

“Infidelity, my love, is the privilege of the king,” the foolish drunk said. “I believe Odin has made the most of this privilege, as did Bor before him. Why, Bor has oats sown in every realm, including that monstrous home of the Jotuns.”

Thor jumped the low stone wall and stalked off into the gardens as Loki lifted a hand to stop him, his mouth opening to do the same. It was the quick realisation that he didn’t care that stopped Loki as Thor pummeled the unfortunate big mouth. When he was done, he stalked back out of the gardens, walking back in the direction from which he had come.

“Where are you going?” Loki asked, following behind. “Thor?”

“It is none of your concern,” Thor huffed.

“No, it isn’t, but perhaps I ought to advise you against pummelling anyone else, if that is your plan,” Loki said. “Is it?”

Thor stopped to turn and glare at Loki. “This is a jest to you? A drunken soldier dishonouring the memory of my mother.”

“I think you’ll find it was your father who dishonoured Frigga with his infidelity,” Loki said smoothly. “A drunk is just a man with a runaway tongue.”

Thor took a loud shaky breath, moving away from Loki, both his hands fisted by his sides. He paced for a moment before sitting down with a miserable and heavy thump on the stone wall. He was looking down at his hands, one rubbing a thumb into the center of his other palm. Loki wished he knew what acts of guilt he was trying to rub away from his palm. He went to lean against a pillar, standing close to Thor.

“What is it?” Loki asked. “I’m sure Odin’s infidelities are nothing new to you.”

Thor glared at his hands. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so,” Loki said with a shrug. He remained quiet as Thor sat turning over whatever angry thoughts were going through his mind.

“Tis better to be a soldier than a king,” Thor said quietly.

“A soldier would probably disagree. Especially the one you just pummelled.” Thor looked up at Loki and let out a snort of laughter. Lok smiled. “What are you doing here anyway? Surely you should be drinking your warriors under the table.”

“I saw you leave,” Thor said. “I...I just wanted to see how you were.”

Loki nodded, evading Thor’s gaze for a moment by taking in their surroundings. “It’s strange being on Asgard like this.”

“Is it?” Thor asked.

“It feels both foreign and familiar,” Loki explained. “Not the home I remember, but not quite a strange land altogether.”

“What does Jotunheim feel like?” Thor asked softly. It was a careful question, Loki thought.

“A prison,” Loki said quietly. “I could step onto Jotun land of my free will, and it will always be a prison.”

Thor stood up slowly, opening his mouth to say something and then faltering. Loki hoped it wouldn’t be comfort, or apologies. He didn’t need to be placated. Thankfully, Thor said what seemed to be the most Thor-like thing to say. “I think we should drink. _A lot_.”

Loki stared at him, and then grinned. He couldn’t have grinned like this in a while, because his whole face felt as if it had just taken a cleansing breath. Loki had thought of this moment, this night, years later. He had thought of it as he drank a pitcher of wine dry all by himself. He had sat on the balcony edge staring out at those same deceitful stars, drinking cup after cup of wine, whilst Thor sat in his chambers, just a few doors down from that of the Prince Consort of Asgard, both contemplating their union.

Loki had returned from Jotunheim, playing the diplomat, and he had gone straight to Thor’s chambers with news. Thor had been busy, lying between Sif’s legs, kissing her deep as he rocked into her body. She hooked a leg over his hip, holding him close. This wasn’t just something carnal, Loki thought. He clung to her. She had her hand cupped around the back of his head, almost protective. Their bodies were pressed so close together, they could have been carved from the same block of marble.

Loki had been the intruder, backing away in humiliation, and feeling even more ashamed when he stumbled and sent a bowl from a table clattering onto the ground. He turned and left before he could meet their eyes. Sitting on the floor with his back against the balcony wall, Loki emptied his cup, his eyes drifting shut just as Thor arrived. Loki opened his eyes to see Thor standing on the threshold of the bedroom, his dark brown cloak wrapped around him, brown hair pulled back hastily. Loki blinked at him in silence.

“What’s that saying?” Loki said breaking the long silence. “Infidelity is the privilege of kings?”

“I wanted to tell you,” Thor said, voice weighed down by guilt. “I...I should have-”

“To what end?” Loki asked. “Did Odin ask Frigga before humiliating their union? Did Bor before he sired who knows how many bastards? You are the king. This is your... _right_.”

Thor scowled, shaking his head. “Stop.”

“I’m being unfair, of course. You are in fact remaining faithful to the one you love. Already you’re a better king than Odin.” Loki watched Thor as his shoulders slumped and he heavily moved to sit down next to Loki. Loki held up his cup. “Drink?”

Thor looked at the cup and lifted the pitcher of wine near Loki, filling the cup up. Putting the pitcher aside, he drained half of the cup and handed it back to Loki. “I can’t...I can’t give her up, Loki.”

“Well, thanks to the Asgardians wanting an Asgardian heir, you’ll never have to. The fruits of my loins are unwanted here, remember? Someone will have to give you a child, and we both know who it will be. I’d hazard a guess that Odin knew it too.” Loki laughed, a final realisation hitting him. “Everyone knows it.”

“I did not mean to cause you hurt, Loki,” Thor said, unable to meet Loki’s eyes.

“It is all you are capable of, Odinson,” Loki said quietly, draining his cup of wine, and holding it out for a refill. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer we not speak of it again. I believe that is the privilege afforded to the consort.”

Thor filled his cup, and they shared the wine in silence.

# ***

Thor was pacing back and forth, prowling like a hungry animal when Loki walked in. As soon as he caught sight of Loki he stopped, going awfully still. There was a silver goblet in his hand, around which his fingers had become tight. Thor threw the goblet with an enraged growl, the cup speeding past Loki’s ear and hitting the wall, falling to the ground and rolling to a stop by Loki’s foot. Loki glanced down at it, before picking it up. He walked up to Thor and held out the goblet, Thor predictably slapping it out of his hand.

“I didn’t realise you would be done debasing yourself so soon,” Thor said, sounding so wounded Loki almost felt a pang of guilt.

He mustered up a smile and said, “So, it’s debasement when I’m with another, and sacred with you.”

Thor stepped forward consuming the space between them as he grabbed Loki by his face. Loki swallowed, his neck going taut as he fixed his eyes on Thor’s, body rooted to the spot, hands fisted at his side.

“You do not debase yourself with your king,” Thor growled. “Your king who is your consort.”

“My gaoler,” Loki said unsteadily, Thor’s fingers tightening painfully. “Once it was Odin, then Laufey, and now you.”

“You think yourself a prisoner?” Thor let him ago, staring at Loki, confusion and disbelief writ across his face. “By my side _you_ are a king.”

“I never wanted to be king,” Loki said, swallowing hard. “All I ever wanted was to be your equal.”

Thor scowled. “You find things to be slighted about where there are none. You have always been my equal.”

“I have only ever been something with which to bargain, belonging not to Asgard nor Jotunheim, shackled to both.”

“ _Shackled_. To me,” Thor said, voice heavy with hurt. “And _him_? What is _he_?”

“A choice,” Loki said. “Something Odin and Laufey never thought to offer me.”

“More imagined slights.”

“Your _choice_ was Sif,” Loki said. “But Odin sold your fate to Laufey, just as Laufey sold mine to Odin. Sif is your queen. I am a... _clause_ in a treaty.”

“You are my brother!” Thor yelled as he stabbed the air with an angry finger. “I did not make you into a clause. I did not send you away. I was a child too. I screamed down the palace of Asgard, when they sent you to Jotunheim, but no one listened. Not when I asked Odin to bring you back, and not when he spoke of betrothal. The word of the king is law, that was what Odin told me when I spoke of Sif. You think you have been slighted? Tell me, to whom shall I take my complaint? Where do I get recompense for these cruelties? I have a consort who does not want to be at my side, and a queen who cannot be queen. _You_ tell me how I fix this!”

Loki flinched at the angry demand, the outburst leaving him speechless. But, he thought of the Tesseract shimmering between him and Thor under its cloak of invisibility, what if it could all be changed? The Tesseract could shift space. What if every speck that made up the universe, including space and time, could be shifted?

Loki looked at Thor and told him, “I can’t.”

“And yet you find ways to punish me,” Thor said.

“Why does my pleasure equal your punishment?” Loki asked with a frown. “Why must I accept your love for Sif, whilst my affection for another _punishes_ you?”

“Affection? You have known him for a matter of days, and he has your _affection_?” Thor asked, a disbelieving look on his face. Loki looked away, angry and confused. Thor took him by his chin, forcing him to look into Thor’s eyes. “How can you care for him? You hardly know him.”

“I didn’t say I cared for him,” Loki said, pulling away from Thor’s grasp.

But Thor was looking him in his eyes, his expression showing his surprise, perhaps a little fear. He stepped away heavily. “Liar.”

The Fates, never for good timing, unusually chose this moment to plunge the room into darkness, the evening sky’s dim and grey light throwing a blanket of grimness across everything. Loki frowned up at the dead lights, realising that along with the lights, the tower was missing the telltale hum of all the energy Loki’s spells had forced it to continue soaking, despite attempts on the outside to cut them off.

Thor gave Loki a hard look as he made for the door. “Looks like your precious Midgardians have finally found out how to shut this tower down.”

“Mature,” Loki said, following as Thor stomped off to find out what was happening. As they walked it became clear that all power to the building was gone, every light off, every appliance dead. “Voice of the tower. Are you there?”

“He is not,” Thor said with annoyance. They entered a laboratory with all manner of equipment to make Midgardian magic, some of the machines hooked up to Asgardian devices, which now blinked in confusion. Asgardians were milling around pulling apart connections, Hogun surfacing from amongst them to nod at Thor. “What’s happened?”

“We have lost access to the tower’s resources,” Hogun said. He gave Loki an oddly apprehensive look. “Some kind of energy wave which has shut down the Midgardian devices.”

“And?” Loki asked.

“The blast originated in your library,” Hogun answered. Looking back at Thor he said. “The technology in this tower is of no use to us now. All we have is the tower. Either we defend and remain, or find another base.”

“Defend the tower. When we leave, we will leave nothing of it behind.” Thor aimed a dark look at Loki, grabbing him by the elbow. “You. With me.”

Thor predictably dragged Loki all the way to his so-called library. Loki gritted his teeth, grunting when Thor’s fingers dug in deep. “Not that I don’t appreciate this possessive ape-like behaviour, but do you think you might want to tell me what you think you’re doing?”

Thor let go and commanded, “Find it.”

“Find _what_?” Loki bit back.

“Whatever it is _he_ left behind,” Thor said. “It’s in here. Find it and destroy it.”

Loki stared at Thor, the meaning of his words starting to dawn on Loki very slowly. “What are you trying to say?”

Thor’s mouth twisted slightly as he said, “I am saying that your... _affections_ were misplaced.”

Thor glanced past Loki’s shoulder with a stony look, before stalking away. Loki turned slowly, moving through the room and appraising it with narrowed eyes, his feet moving in the direction of the couch on which Thor had found him and Steve. He stood over it, looking at the throw which was still hanging off, partly pooled on the floor. He spotted the device in no time at all, silver and round, nestled behind a plump cushion. Picking it up, he grinned at the device.

“Good for you, Steven,” Loki murmured, watching it freeze in his hands, before it became brittle enough to crush. “Good for you.”

# ***

By nightfall, the tower had been fortified by Frost Giants and magical shields, rather than the exploitation of Stark’s existing resources. Where there had been lights, now there were makeshift torches burning throughout. Loki ignored a Midgardian flying machine that shone its light into his chamber, and sprayed the tower with useless projectiles. He snapped his fingers and created a black veil across the large window, continuing to read the book open in his lap.

Thor arrived late, as Loki expected he might. If he noticed _the_ couch was now covered in books, he didn’t make it apparent, going instead to the mirror and eyeing the black runes scribbled all the way down. Rubbing his thumb across one, and not disturbing it in the least, he asked, “Did you find it?”

Loki continued to read, tapping his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“And?”

“It’s gone,” Loki answered. He looked up at Thor and smiled. “You were right. My affections were misplaced.”

“I haven’t come to gloat,” Thor said.

“How very unlike you,” Loki said. “Are you sick?”

Thor rolled his eyes, before giving Loki a long appraising look. “In truth, I’m surprised you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Loki asked, turning over a leaf, tracing the letters that seemed to shine straight into his eyes.

Thor knocked on the mirror. “Anywhere these cursed things might take you.”

Loki looked up, leaning back in his chair. He smiled, conceding his loss in this portion of their game. Getting up, he shoved the large tome at Thor’s chest. Thor gave him a look, but his hands came up to hold the book. Turning his back on Thor, Loki looked at the window, angling his head and willing the black veil to thin out so he could watch the Midgardians continue their attempts to penetrate the tower.

“If I were you, I’d go and rest rather than waste your time taunting me,” Loki said. “We have much to do tomorrow.”

“Do we?” Thor asked, the sound of Loki’s book being shut hard following.

“Most certainly,” Loki said, turning towards Thor, looking at the Tesseract glowing in his hand. He looked up at Thor and asked, “Don’t you think?”

The Tesseract’s light danced in Thor’s eyes as he looked from the cube to Loki and smiled.

# ***

In the depth of the night, Loki rubbed his fingers together, still able to feel the remains of the crushed device. All people, it seemed, had an affinity towards their own. Loki would save Asgard, because for a while it had been his home, and because despite everything, Thor was also...his. Steve would fight for Midgard, because despite Hydra, he was a part of humanity, and humanity was a part of him.

Sentiment, he thought somewhat bitterly, watching Steve in fitful slumber. The pale of his skin seemed to have a golden glow in the dark, but Loki realised that much of that glow was the soft focus of his visions of realms, each one layered on top of each other like a glass plate, blurring that which lay at the very bottom. It was possible that Loki could not even see the Steve Rogers who lay before him.

Steve lurched up with a gasp, his face covered in a sheen of nighttime fear. Loki leaned in swiftly and pressed a finger to Steve’s mouth, with a gentle, “Shhhh.”

Steve’s eyes widened for a moment, before he realised it was Loki and he relaxed, the darks of his eyes signalling that Loki was not a completely unpleasant surprise. He made no move to remove Loki’s finger against his mouth, nor to break their heated gaze.

Loki smiled at Steve. “That was very devious of you, Steven. I see Fury wasted no time in exploiting our...friendship.”

Steve reached up to put his hand around Loki’s wrist, pulling down his hand. “Your people are too dangerous holed up in Stark tower. Innocent people are getting hurt.”

Loki tilted his head to get a better look at the soft of Steve’s mouth. “Hmm. Pity you made me look quite the fool saving your precious innocents.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Steve said, too easy to believe. “You have the Tesseract. You can save your world. Just try not to break mine doing it.”

Loki looked away, shaking his head. Laughing, he frowned at Steve. “After all that’s happened, why do you even give a damn?”

“Giving a damn is all I have left,” Steve said.

Loki felt a strange surge of anger and lurched forward as Steve shifted up, Loki ending in his lap, want tricking Loki into thinking he was about to unleash fury. He wasn’t. He had Steve’s face in his hands, and he was kissing Steve as if he was parched and drinking from a fountain of unlimited water. Steve was grabbing at him, holding him close, pulling at his clothes. With a growl, Loki shoved Steve backwards, covering his body, and his mouth, shoving troublesome cloth out of the way. Just as his fingertips touched skin, Steve flipped him over, and held him down by his wrists. They both now had too much space between them, all of it filled with ragged breathing and brewing heat.

“Promise you won’t hurt anyone,” Steve said breathlessly. “Promise me.”

“Why would I do that?” Loki murmured. “What if hurting people is all I have?”

Metal tightened around Loki’s wrist, making him gasp. Steve’s eyes seemed to be boring into his skull, into all those other realms, into the dreams of all those other Lokis, his voice an echo as he exquisitely asked, “ _Please_.”

A grin spread slow across Loki's face as he looked up at Steve and whispered, “Promise.”

 _Sentiment,_ a familiar voice taunted in his head, laughing as Steve kissed a trail down Loki’s throat, _sentiment._


	19. Chapter 19

Realities, Loki thought, were either stacked on top of each other or sat side by side. Yes, side by side seemed to fit, like the slicing of a roast boar, each reality a fleshy part that sat next to another, and another, and another. Only, universes were part of an endless boar with infinite slices of meat carved up side by side. What was that feeling, when one stopped in one’s tracks, convinced that an experience was replaying itself? Was that a taint from the universe in front or behind? By whom was the knife held? Did the Fates sit together, deciding which slice would be garnished and which would be thrown to the dogs? Did they decide to cut away the fatty parts, to create universes cut to the bone? Did they really decide his fate?

Loki had seen himself in many guises. Sometimes he was brother of Odin, sometimes he was son, and sometimes he was a Jotun through and through. He saw himself as a smirking woman with generous curves, and he’d seen himself as a small black-haired boy, innocent and afraid. He’d seen his face so weathered and twisted, he hadn’t been sure if it was even him. He’d seen himself falling, Thor’s distress ringing in his ears, and he’d seen himself upon a throne, Thor kneeling before him, his wrists manacled to a pole that ran across his back, keeping his arms outstretched. He’d seen Thor hold him down as cruel hands sewed up his mouth, Dwarves rewarding Thor with a hammer for his efforts.

Loki had seen enough to spend his nights for a thousand years just leafing through the images of other realities, watching his counterparts maneuvering their ways out of tricky situations. It could become a sort of daily activity in fact. Loki snorted at the idea, slowly walking across dusty barren land under a bright blue sky. It was warm here, the sun pricking Loki’s skin a little uncomfortably. This place had shone bright in Loki’s vision, the colour’s sharp. He had felt blinded by the light of the sun hitting silver. Loki got down on one knee and touched the earth. Right here. This was where Odin had sent a precious weapon called Mjolnir. The hammer, which even now sat in the vaults of Asgard, too heavy to be lifted by any Asgardian.

This place, Loki thought, too was fated. This was the place where in another reality Loki moved almost like a ghost. He could take flight using a passing reflection. He could project himself across great spaces, without leaving the space where he stood. This was the reality where Loki was... _interesting._ He was a brother, not a betrothed. He was a contender to the throne, not just a prince. He did what he wanted, not what he was told. He had commanded Steve Rogers to kneel before him, and Steve had fought him, looked at him with such fury. That was a fury reserved for the highest of villainy. Loki wondered how much of that villainy lived in him, how much of that righteous fury existed within his soldier.

“Loki?”

Loki blinked, his eyes stinging. He took a breath, re-orienting himself. He was in the tower, standing before a large window that looked out at the Midgardian helicopters circling outside. He hadn’t projected himself far, but the attempt had left him feeling a little warm and shaky. He saw Sif’s reflection as she watched him with a curious look, and turned to face her.

“Are you well?” she asked as she approached him.

Loki grinned at her, holding out his hands. “A picture of health.”

Sif arched a brow. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Loki said, picking up a nearby cup of half-finished wine. He polished off the rest, surprised by his thirst. Putting the cup down, he motioned to Sif. “What news?”

“Everyone’s assembled,” she replied. “They are, predictably, questioning the king about certain matters.”

“Matters such as why they ought to trust monstrosities such as Frost Giants?” Loki asked with a smile.

Sif didn’t seem amused. If anything, she looked a little regretful. “Do you think Thor would allow anyone to speak that way about you?”

“No. I suspect he would deal with them the way he deals with all problems. By pounding them into a fine paste.” Sif smiled, a flash of teeth disturbing a usually sour disposition. Loki frowned at her. “A guard could have brought me news of the council assembling.”

Sif’s mouth clamped shut for a moment, as she looked away, private thoughts denting her forehead. After a moment she looked him in the eye and said, “We have guests you might not be aware of.”

Loki was quiet for a moment, until he realised what guests he might have something against. “The Svartalfar are still here.”

“Just two,” Sif said. “They have the rig you wanted built for the Tesseract, and the altar for the Casket. They aren’t the ones who-”

“Invaded my mind?” Loki asked quietly. “Cut me off from my own thoughts?”

“Someone needed to, Loki,” Sif said. “You were in pain. Thor did what he thought he had to.”

“He trusted the Svartalfar,” Loki said. “That will not bode well.”

“He did it for you,” Sif said.

Loki swallowed, mustering up a shaky smile. “Because he’s a sentimental fool. It’ll be his ruin.”

Sif looked down, her mouth working. She nodded, saying nothing.

Loki let out a laugh, anxiety and madness bubbling up from somewhere, whilst Sif looked at him with sad eyes. “Don’t look so miserable. We’re about to save Asgard.”

Sif cracked a small smile, her gaze weighed down by something Loki chose not to interpret. She nodded at him. “Come.”

Loki nodded back and they walked together in a strange but comfortable silence.

# ***

Walking towards Stark Tower’s equivalent of the throne room, Loki momentarily regretted not having stayed with Steve a little longer in that warm bubble of his bed, their world narrowed down to the space between their bodies. The best of the realms, Loki thought, the one you created in joining with another. _Sentiment_ , a wounded voice sneered in his mind again, accompanied by razorwire thin hurt.

To think, there were creatures more disgruntled than him who went by the name Loki. If he could face the Fates, he would ask them why they filled his lap with their bittersweet gifts, not just in one universe, but in all those universes stacked side by side. Hmm, not like a boar, he mused. Perhaps, more like thin slices of an apple, carrying the spread of rot from one slice to the next. Even if there was a reality untouched by the rot, as was the nature of rot, it would not remain untouched for long.

Hearing the sound of dissent from outside, Loki walked into the throne room of Stark Tower with a grim set to his mouth, Sif looking no happier by his side. Most of the assembled Asgardians had their backs to Sif and Loki, facing Thor who stood at the head of the room, in front of a throne on a raised podium. He looked every inch the king, his cloak half wrapped about him, Gungnir in hand, hair tamed so it was partially pulled back, and partially falling about his shoulders. Loki had to look away, never comfortable with the stirring of so many conflicting emotions when it came to Thor.

Instead, he listened to a pompous voice demanding, “You _cannot_ entrust a Jotun with the safety of Asgard’s future.”

“It is the Jotun who has brought us to the Tesseract,” Thor said, sounding impatient.

“The Svartalfar-” someone started, only to be abruptly cut off by Thor telling them, “Are working to the instructions set down by the Prince Consort.”

“You are handing your realm to the treacherous Jotuns, my king. Odin would never have-”

“Odin is not king,” Loki said, prompting every head to turn and every pair of eyes to rest on him. Loki looked in the direction where the dissent was coming from, an aging warrior who was less soldier and more sack. “Thor is king. Yours and mine. If I, a treacherous Jotun as you put it, can obey the king, what is it that stops you, a pure-blooded Asgardian, from doing the same?”

Loki’s question was greeted with silence. It was Fandral who pointed out, “You either stand with the king, or stand to be counted against him. Which is it going to be?”

There was no swift reaction to Fandral’s question. Stubborn fools, Loki thought. They would allow their realm to perish just to slight a Jotun.

“Asgard will be saved,” Thor said, glaring mostly in the direction of his detractors. “Those who do not wish to be saved with it, are free to leave my court.”

Guilty heads bowed in shame under Thor’s icy glare, not looking even as the king walked past his detractors to stop in front of Loki, his expression serious, with just touch a touch of fear in the dark of his eyes. He gave Loki a nod.

Loki felt himself waver a little, before offering a wide grin for show. “It’s quite easy actually. The Tesseract will open and sustain a portal, and the Casket will support the descent of Asgard to Midgard. Nothing to it.”

The tension in the room seemed to increase, Asgardians eying each other at the mention of the Casket, murmuring quietly.

“What?” Thor snapped in the direction of worried whispers. “Speak!”

“The Casket must not go into Jotun hands,” came the reply from an elderly advisor who by his looks could have been Odin himself. “Treaty or no treaty, my king, your father took away the Casket for a reason.”

Before Thor could answer, Loki responded with a tight smile on his face. “Fine. Find someone else who can wield it.”

“There is no one else,” Thor said, giving the old man a flinty look.

“On the contrary, my king. There is you.”

Thor turned towards one of two figures who stood out in their earth tone clothe, the drab and distinct dress of the Svartalfaran smiths. The one who spoke had brown unkempt hair that almost touched his shoulders, a growth of reddish brown stubble, and sharp clever blue eyes. A nervous smile showed a flash of slightly crooked teeth behind thin lips. The man with him was similarly dressed, dark brown trousers, paler shirt, and a long dark overcoat. His hair was a harsh red, his skin an unhealthy white, the his eyes a cloudy blue. Their shared demeanour was as grim and dark as the realm from which they came.

“What do you mean?” Thor asked, after having glanced at Loki who felt silenced by their presence, senses feeling sharp and alert as if danger was lurking on his doorstep.

“You will be aware there are many laws regarding the assignment of magical properties and objects. A practitioner of the highest order can transfer objects bound to him by law or inheritance.”

“Sindri,” Thor said with a note of warning.

Sindri smiled apologetically, bowing his head. “Forgive me, All-Father. What I mean to say is, Prince Loki is a gifted practitioner. With a simple casting of the runes, he can assign to you power over the Casket, if it would appease your people.”

Loki watched Sindri, feeling his nerves jangle inside his chest. Thor turned in his direction. “Loki?”

“I cannot confirm that which I am not aware of,” Loki said slowly, still watching Sindri.

Sindri’s expression shifted, eyes widening a little as he gave Loki a pitying look. “With respect to the king, my prince, who on Asgard would tell you such a thing? And who on Jotunheim would allow you to know something so powerful?”

Thor glared at Sindri. “I do not need you so much that I would have to think twice before pulling out an insolent tongue.”

“Forgive me, All-Father. I meant no offense,” Sindri said with a bow of his head. He bowed his head to Loki next, looking repentant. “Forgive me, Prince Loki. I meant only that the Casket is powerful, and those who fear its power seek to control it by all means necessary. I meant you no slight.”

Loki let out a laugh to cake over the new pock mark of humiliation caused by Laufey and Odin. “Politics, eh?”

Thor stood glaring at Sindri for a while, silent and infuriated, before he finally growled, “Get out. Everybody! Go!”

There were a few offended murmurs before the room began to empty of Asgardians and Svartalfar alike, leaving Thor and Loki alone. Thor was rubbing his forehead, looking every inch the burdened king.

“You should be rejoicing.” Thor wasn’t looking at Loki, keeping his misery to himself. It got a genuine laugh out of Loki. “Oh come now, you’re not feeling offended on my behalf are you?”

“What if I am?” Thor asked petulantly.

Loki grinned. “It’s rather adorable.”

Thor stared at Loki for a moment and then let out a laugh, though it soon gave way to whatever heavy thoughts plagued him. “Nothing can appease these people. They will not even allow you to save them. Perhaps Asgard _should_ be allowed to fall.”

Loki frowned, surprised. “Surely you don’t mean that.”

“What has Asgard given us?” Thor asked, all traces of humour gone now. “What has it given you?”

“Just enough to want to save it,” Loki said, watching Thor step closer, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder which slowly moved to cup the back of Loki’s neck in a warm and secure grip. Loki felt tension he hadn’t even been aware of leaving his muscles, a slow warmth creeping into his chest.

“What?” Loki asked softly.

“I am no better than Odin, am I?” Thor said quietly, pain sparkling in his dark eyes. “He forged the chains, and I keep them in place.”

Loki snorted. “As much as it pains me to say it, you are a better king than Odin could ever hope to be.”

The corner of Thor’s mouth twitched. “You think so?”

“Well,” Loki shrugged. “Two eyes.”

Thor’s smile was brilliant, so much so Loki thought he saw gold in brown locks, blue sky in dark eyes. Thor leaned in, surprising Loki when instead of a kiss he was pulled into a warm embrace, thick arms closing all the way around him and holding him close. Loki frowned at the rightness of the moment, letting his hand come up so his fingers could clutch at the cloak on Thor’s back.

When they pulled apart, Thor’s hand remained on Loki’s shoulder. “We will save Asgard. Together. Whether the Casket will be in your hands or mine, I will leave that choice to you.”

“Even if it means your people turning against you?” Loki asked.

“Better them than you,” Thor said, a thoughtful frown on his face.

Loki swallowed, his throat feeling dry and tight. “But we will turn on each other. Isn’t it the point of this union? Either Odin’s all-seeing eye missed that Laufey wanted this, or he was simply happy to leave you waging war with Jotunheim. Whatever the case, one day you and I will not stand side by side.”

Thor looked sombre, and it came as a surprise that he didn’t outright reject Loki’s theory. “That day does not have to be here for a long time yet. Does it?”

“No. It doesn’t,” Loki said with a smile.

Thor nodded, lightly knocking his knuckles against Loki’s jaw. “So, for now, side by side, my prince?”

“Side by side,” Loki echoed quietly. “My king.”

Thor gave Loki a nod. “I will send word that Asgard will have firm ground on which to land in days. However you choose to do this.”

Loki nodded, receiving a firm nod in return before Thor turned and headed towards the doors. Loki watched him go, used a moment to mull over a million thoughts, and then called out, “We will return to Asgard. There, we use the rainbow bridge to forge a connection to Midgard. There’s a place I’ve seen in my visions, a place connected to us. The Tesseract’s rig will connect to the bridge and mimic its direction of travel, dragging Asgard down. You will unleash the Casket’s full power to slow Asgard’s descent. Nice and simple.”

Thor turned around, frowning. “I will unleash the power of the Casket.”

“It’s what the people want. To be saved by their king,” Loki said. “The added bonus is that news of this will inevitably reach Laufey.”

“He will not be happy,” Thor said.

“How unfortunate,” Loki said. “I do hate to cause him distress.”

“You’re doing this to spite him?” Thor asked, brows climbing up his forehead in surprise.

“Not at all,” Loki replied. “I’m doing it because I rather like the idea of the King of Asgard being in my debt. Which is what you will be when I hand you that Casket.”

Thor’s smile was composed of part amusement and part speculation which danced around in the brown of his eyes. He held out his hand to Loki. Not a lover beckoning a lover. Not a brother reaching out to a brother. Loki looked at the proffered hand, recognising it as an equal offering to seal a pact with his equal. Loki reached out and grasped Thor’s hand firmly.

Thor gave Loki a nod, and said, “Let’s save Asgard.”

# ***

The evacuation of the tower was chaotic. Those who had issues with a Jotun having anything to do with the saving of Asgard were now criticising the decision to return to an unstable realm. _Then stay_ , Thor had ordered, swiftly moving on, while Loki looked on, feeling a strange soothing balm spread over ancient wounds. Asgard would never be allowed to forget this, that he, a Jotun, had found not only the Tesseract, but used its power to save Asgard from splintering into space. No doubt, they would hate him even more.

Loki stood on the balcony, looking out at Asgard as he could hear the quiet sound of more of his belongings being returned to his chambers. For all its problems, Asgard look as beautiful as ever, adorned with sparkly jewels made of stars, and a veil of pink mists. The only sign of its doom were the occasional tremors, and the sometimes more rare quakes as Odin’s traps fought with stubborn cracks attempting to widen. Buildings had fallen, or become unstable, but for the most, Asgard still gleamed tall and proud, every bit as arrogant as her citizens.

Loki turned back towards his chambers. Up ahead, guards stood at attention for further commands and Loki gave them their leave with the wave of a hand. His heart was beating quick with anticipation as somewhere below him a chamber in the bowels of Asgard was being set up for the descent. The rig for the Tesseract was being assembled, as was the altar for the Casket. Heimdall awaited orders to send the rainbow bridge to that dusty spot where in another reality Thor had been thrown down to find his humility.

Everything was in place.

Yet, Loki felt somewhat out of place. As if his feet weren’t touching the ground. As if he had lost something, left it behind. Loki sighed, letting his head hang back and his eyes close. It did nothing to ease the pangs he felt. His feet moved almost automatically towards his mirror. All it took was the press of his thoughts for the mirror’s waters to become murky, shifting until the net Loki had cast caught its fish.

Loki had to step back, a little surprised by the proximity. Steve was staring straight at Loki. His face had the remnants of soap on his cheeks, and a towel hung over his shoulder, his bare skin flushed pink. His hand was holding a razor and hovering just in front of his face as he stared at himself in some silent confusion. Loki felt a strange heavy pull at the base of his heart, a yearning to reach out and put his and around Steve’s wrist.

Steve’s hand came down of its own accord, forehead denting. His eyes shifted, head turning a fraction as if he was trying to pick up sounds in his surroundings. Loki frowned, stepping closer to the mirror, head tilted with interest. He reached out and touched the cool glass of the mirror, sliding his finger along Steve’s jaw.

“Are you there?” Steve whispered, startling Loki, his hand coming away from the mirror. Steve was peering into the mirror, eyes shifting again. “I can feel you.”

“How?” Loki asked, moving through the space between one blink of an eye and another, now peering over Steve’s shoulder into the mirror where he saw both his and Steve’s reflections, their gazes locking. “How could you... _feel_ me?”

Steve turned around to face Loki, heat radiating off him into the small gap between their bodies. He shook his head, frowning along with Loki. “I don’t know. Is that not supposed to happen when you’re spying on people?”

Loki grinned. “No. You see me if I want you to see me.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “I felt like you were in the same room.”

Loki reached up, swallowing hard, and stroked the back of his fingers down Steve’s freshly shaven cheek. Better, Loki thought, just like him, the Steve Rogers in his dreams, golden and godlike. Loki stroked his thumb down to Steve’s jaw a few times before dropping his hand.

“We left the tower. Did you know?” Loki asked, receiving a nod. “Asgard will have its new home on Midgard. Ground is all we will take. No harm will come to anyone there. Unless, you understand, harm is brought to the gates of Asgard.”

“Why are you telling me?” Steve asked quietly.

Loki looked up into the corners of the room, and into room beyond the door. “I am not the only one admiring you from afar.”

Steve’s head jerked slightly to the side, eyes widening with surprise, and then narrowing with jaded acceptance. “So, this is a threat.”

“No,” Loki said softly. “A warning from someone who lives amongst the Asgardians. Thor is headstrong and arrogant. He strikes before he listens. Your people need to know this. Asgard can and will defend itself.”

“You’re taking over a piece of someone’s home,” Steve said. “I don’t see that going down too well.”

“Why not?” Loki asked with a smile. “The history of Midgard suggests if any place should accept intruders to make a home on stolen land...it is this place right here.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Right.”

“By tomorrow,” Loki said, “Asgard and Midgard will inhabit the same realm. The two realms can choose to be enemies, or choose to be friends.”

Somewhere in the apartment a door opened too discretely, and feet trod lightly. A beam of red light sent ripples across the fabric of space, registering harshly against Loki’s charms.

“Are you my friend, Steven?” Loki whispered with a smile, as he stepped forward, close enough for a kiss. But the intruders were closing in. Loki angled his head in the direction of the door, arching a brow. “You have visitors.”

Steve’s expression was bland, but Loki caught a wisp of amusement as he leaned in close to press his hand against the mirror. His ears caught the beginning of a warning to surrender himself, before feeling the cool and clean air of Asgard, soothing the warmth that seemed to arise even at the thought of Steve. This time tomorrow, he thought, both Asgard and Midgard would be new worlds. Whether that resulted in war, or peace, was an entirely different matter.


	20. Chapter 20

In a deep ruggedly round Asgardian cave, Loki watched as the Dwarves made adjustments to a tall and slim pyramid shaped rig that would hold the Tesseract. Next to it stood a smooth tall and black slab, orange runes blinking and scrolling, blinking and scrolling. On the other side of the cave was a stone altar, ready for the Casket to unleash its power. The black marble altar was being checked by some scholarly sour Asgardians who were turning over crystals in its base, scrutinising them closely.

As Loki stood watching them all, the moment when this had all started seemed an age ago. Maybe it was. On Asgard time moved at its own strange pace, even if back then everything had been moving too quick. Odin was dead. The mark of the Dark Elves had appeared, and Loki and Thor were headed to seek help from the last place either of them wanted to go: Jotunheim.

“Thor, All-Father, King of Asgard, Consort to the Prince Loki, approaches!”

Loki turned his head to the right and looked at Thor astride his horse, clenching his jaw in lieu of rolling his eyes. Loki returned his gaze to its fixed point ahead, glaring at the iron gate which would open in a moment and allow entrance to the Asgardians, finally giving them shelter from biting winter snow, the cold of which was permeating even Loki’s thick furs.

“Prince Loki, Regent of Jotunheim, Consort Prince to the King of Asgard, approaches!”

“Do you think Laufey has made clear enough your stake in Asgard?” Thor asked cuttingly. Loki chose to ignore the comment, both of them riding into the city with soldiers in front, and Asgardian dignitaries following.

Inside the halls of Jotunheim, a feast was being laid in the great hall. Loki felt a prickle of annoyance, seeing it also in the tightness of Thor’s expression. Laufey was waiting for them at the head of the hall, and when Loki approached, he smiled his sharp smile.

“Loki, my son,” he said. Loki clamped his mouth shut, nodding at Laufey. The Jotun then turned to Thor. “And no less to me than a son, All-Father.”

If possible on Jotunheim, the temperature around the Asgardians most certainly dropped. Thor though, having had to learn the ways of diplomacy gave Laufey a nod. “Laufey. I thank you for seeing us so swiftly. A feast however was unnecessary. The matter we wish to discuss is grave.”

“A feast is customary when welcoming both family and royalty,” Laufey said. “But we need not join until later. Come, let us speak in private.”

Loki followed at Thor’s side, walking down a dim corridor that took them into a dark chamber, where the furnishings were carved from stones and marbles, as were the few ornaments that adorned the room, mythical figures frozen with fierce expressions. A mural of war between Asgard and Jotunheim during the time of Bor escaped no one’s attention, and the complimentary fire lit for the Asgardians did nothing to soften the winter chill. Even as a Jotun, Loki had found the winters of this realm harsh. It was little surprise that all the blood of Thor’s skin had sunk deep to take refuge.

Thor sat down at the head of the table, invited by Laufey with a gesture, and Loki sat at his right hand. Laufey remained standing. He opened the conversation with, “I hope the fire is sufficient. I can have another set if not.”

“That will not be necessary,” Thor said, an tell-tale mist escaping his mouth.

“If you are certain-” Laufey began.

“Let’s cut to the quick,” Loki said impatiently. “We’re here to find out if you can help us or not. If not, we’d rather be on our way.”

To Loki’s annoyance, rather than looking slighted, Laufey nodded at him, sitting down. “What is the dilemma?”

“We have found the mark of the Dark Elves,” Thor said. “It is forming a crack in the foundations of Asgard. So far Odin’s traps are slowing down the destruction it will wreak. Loki says you know of such magic.”

“Indeed.” Laufey sat back, looking thoughtful. “It will grow quick, before it begins to consume all that is around it. All that will be left of Asgard will be dust.”

Thor looked unimpressed with the information. Loki told Laufey, “We’re actually looking for a way to stop this from happening, not someone to state the obvious.”

“Loki,” Thor snapped. “Hold your tongue.”

“A tongue that speaks for your realm, All-Father,” Laufey said, looking a little amused.

Patience worn too thin already, Loki got up and walked out, getting just outside the room, only to find Thor follow and swiftly block his path. Voice low, and tone stern, Thor said, “If your attention is to make me look a fool, then you are succeeding.”

Loki refused to look Thor in his eyes, angrily glaring at a statue in the hallway that seemed to mock him with a sharp laughing face.

“Loki? _Loki_ ,” Thor growled, his hand tight around Loki’s elbow.

Loki finally looked at Thor. “He is relishing every moment of this.”

Thor’s expression softened, his hold releasing as he nodded. “The hate you have for Laufey in your eyes is not something to be relished. Come. We need only hold our tongues until we have what we need.”

Laufey was sitting at the table, amusement having taken a bitter turn on his face as both Thor and Loki sat down. “All is well?”

“Our realm is in jeopardy,” Thor said. “All is far from well, Laufey. Jotunheim and Asgard are allies, bound by your and my father’s will. Either stand with us when we have need of you, or be done with this charade of friendship.”

Laufey leaned in, stony-faced. “To be done with this charade, All-Father, would mean a return to enmity, and a dissolution of the union I see before me.”

Loki tensed, staring at Laufey. Before he could demand exactly what Laufey meant, he was distracted by Thor’s laugh. Thor was shaking his head, an ugly twist to his smile. He leaned forward, placing a meaty fist on the table.

“Remember the clauses of the union. Only I have the right to dissolve it, by your decree,” Thor said.

Loki frowned at Thor, the new information turning his stomach. “What?”

Thor nodded. “That’s right. At an expense of course. I would also have to relinquish strategic lands and riches. Including the Casket of Ancient Winters. You would be returned to Jotunheim with it. Ask him if you do not believe me.”

Loki didn’t ask. He just stared at Laufey. It seemed there was no end to the betrayals Loki was to face at the hands of Jotuns and Asgardians. Thor seemed more than happy to have put Laufey in his place, even if it had come at the cost of Loki’s humiliation.

“The clause exists to protect my son,” Laufey told Thor, glancing at Loki. “To make sure you do no wrong by him.”

“Oh, believe me,” Thor said, smiling at Laufey. “Only death will part me from your son. If you have made a place for the Casket here, reconsider it as a pedestal for another of these ornaments.”

Loki remained silent, feeling brittle. Thor had leaned back, smug and self-assured, and Laufey had been firmly put in his place.

“Firm ground,” Laufey said after a lengthy silence. “Place Asgard on firm ground and the mark will be lifted. It is meant for Asgard alone. When your realm touches another, the magic cannot hold, as Asgard will no longer be the realm on which the mark was placed.”

Laufey finished speaking, turning his gaze to Loki. Loki had remained still, staring vacantly at his so-called father. Laufey looked away, back to Thor.

“Place Asgard on firm ground. Asgard is not a toy that can be plucked and placed elsewhere,” Thor said. “It is not a natural thing you advise.”

“No,” Laufey said. “It is not. But there are many practitioners of the unnatural. I will investigate the matter. I invite you and your people to bed here for the night. Tomorrow I will bid you to Asgard with what I have found.”

“I thank you,” Thor said, getting up. Loki rose too, mechanically. Thor moved to leave, stopping to look at Laufey. “If I spoke out of turn-”

“Think nothing of it,” Laufey said, too arrogant to hear an apology. “The circumstances warrant the flaring of tempers.”

“Indeed,” Thor said, his voice rumbling with irritation, pride hurt by the rejection of his kingly apology. Bastards, Loki thought, Jotuns and Asgardians alike.

Thor stalked out, Loki turning to follow a little leadenly.

“Loki,” Laufey called out heavily, sounding regretful. Loki smiled, shaking his head as he came to a stop. “It may not seem it, but what I did, I did to protect you. I would not see Odinson cast you out on a whim.”

Loki turned to look at Laufey. “What you did, you did for yourself. Even now, you circle, waiting for this union to collapse so you can pick at its carcass. I am the pawn, the Casket your prize.”

“It must seem so,” Laufey said.

Loki laughed, something dangerous and manic bubbling under the surface, clawing its way out of his throat. “I will suffer a thousand indignities at Thor’s hands before I ask him to release me from this union if it means making sure you never touch your precious Casket again.”

Laufey’s reply was a stunned silence, more truthful than any of his assertions.

“You have no hold over me,” Loki said quietly. “And you never well.”

Laufey nodded slowly, seemingly in agreement. “Indeed. That honour belongs to Odinson.”

“Better him than you,” Loki said, turning on his heel and walking away before Laufey could add further fuel to the fire.

Outside a feast of sorts was in progress. Jotun entertainers were playing deep horn music accompanied by sombre drums and deep-voiced strings. Long tables had both Jotun and Asgardian dignitaries belonging to the category of those who could behave themselves sitting opposite their former enemies. Loki sat down at Thor’s side, both of them buffered by Thor’s warriors. Thor, unlike him, was drinking slowly, and eating slight.

“I’m sure Laufey would choose a less public way of killing you if that was his intention,” Loki remarked, pouring himself a drink, and then taking a large gulp of cold wine made from the most bitter of berries, producing the sweetest of tastes from its death.

“I’ve seen what Jotun wine can do,” Thor said, putting his hand over Loki’s goblet and pushing it down before he could take another gulp.

Loki snatched his goblet away. “I happen to be a Jotun. Or did you forget?”

“I thought it was something you didn’t particularly want to remember,” Thor said, the muscles of his jaw working.

“No. Not I,” Loki challenged, blue creeping up from the tips of his fingers, surfacing on every inch of his skin. Thor smashed his fist onto the table and stood up, all heads in the hall turning to look at the King of Asgard, and his Jotun consort sitting beside him, serenely blue.

Fandral coughed a discreet, “My king.”

Thor glared at Loki before slowly sitting back down and averting his gaze from Loki entirely. Loki stood up, telling the table, “If you’ll excuse me. I’m not feeling quite myself.”

He left the table, leaving the hall, back straight, head held high, gaze ahead. He made his way through the winding rock halls until he was stopped by a Jotun guard. Loki laughed, shaking his head. This was not a former home he remembered, but a prison he’d once had to endure. He did not have the freedom or right to wander the halls here as he did Asgard. “I’m looking for my room.”

The guard nodded, keeping his eyes narrowed in suspicion before walking ahead of Loki and taking him to that same chamber Loki had spent a childhood in, now decorated for royal guests. When the doors closed behind him, Loki walked into the room, took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and curled his fingers into tight fists. He stood coiled like a snake about to strike, trying to restrain the rage flowing through him. He failed.

Thor arrived later, his footfalls heavy on the debris strewn across the floor, stone and glass shattered, furniture upended. Mirror splintered. Loki sat leaning against a wall, hand bloody from where it had landed on cut glass, clasping around a piece until the rage died down. Thor stood over him, quiet and contemplative. It could go two ways now, Thor offering him love, or offering him contempt. Loki wasn’t sure it mattered, or if he even cared.

“What I said to Laufey,” Thor said quietly, “was not to belittle you. It was a poor method to stop him from belittling me. Belittling us both.”

Loki looked up at Thor, finding him steeped in guilt. He let a bitter smile float up to his face, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Thor sighed and leaned down to grab Loki by the arm, pulling him up to his feet. They both ended up sitting side-by-side on the edge of the bed, Thor keeping Loki’s cut hand in his, closed around a portion of his cloak. After a while, the bleeding stopped, leaving behind a clotted gash. Loki stared at it, eventually closing his fingers over the telltale mark of his uncontainable anger.

Thor’s hand covered his, gentle and light, the motion prompting Loki to look up into a warm gaze. They stared at each other in continued silence, until Thor moved in for a kiss. Loki grabbed Thor at the chest, his fisted hand bunching up ceremonial armour and tunic together as he kept Thor at arm’s length. He watched the back of his hand turn Jotun blue, knowing that it would take mere moments for the rest of him to follow.

“Now,” Loki challenged, watching the dance of Thor’s eyes as he took in the change to Loki’s face and hair. “If you can stomach it, that is.”

Thor’s next touch was less gentle, pulling Loki’s hand away before he lunged forward and covered Loki’s mouth in a demanding kiss. When he pulled away they were both breathing hard, and Thor had pulled Loki close in the grip of one thick arm.

“I know what you are,” Thor whispered, “and much to Laufey’s disappointment, it bothers me not one jot. What bothers me is that a moment in his presence is all it takes for you to doubt my love for you. _You_ are the betrayer here, Loki, not I.”

This time it was Loki who lunged for Thor, kissing away his complaints.

When morning came and crisp light filled the gloom of the cavernous room, Loki awoke with Thor still wrapped around him, his fingers idly scratching at Loki’s collarbone. Loki reached up and took them in his own hand. This in-between moment was filled with a soothing calmness. It didn’t seem to matter Asgard was falling, or that Laufey might gift them with no solution. This moment felt happily separated from all other moments, a universe where everything was perfectly aligned.

Loki thought back on it often. It was in his mind now, stoked out of dormant memory by the embers of warm light in the cavern. Loki watched a Dwarf leaving the Tesseract rig unattended, sauntering over to the rig. It seemed built to his exact specifications, but things often were not what they seemed. Loki had become a master in the art of seeming. That morning long ago, Thor had pressed a kiss to Loki’s temple, and popped their bubble of peace. Dressed and ready for their return to Asgard, they made their way to see Laufey again, _seeming_ quite the royal couple.

They spoke to many a fellow Asgardian on the way. It seemed treatment of the delegation had been favourable, and Jotun wine was still the deadliest concoction in all nine realms. Fandral, rubbing his temple, had complained, “I can see the value of all the ice on this accursed land. Nothing less than burying my hand in a block is going to help.”

“I was left wanting if I am to be honest,” Volstagg said, looking unimpressed.

Sif and Hogun seemed to be faring better than Fandral, if not Volstagg. Hogun said, “The Jotuns, it seems, were eager to have us drunk. They did not realise that Volstagg can drink a whole realm under the table.”

Thor smiled at that, but Loki could see he was too preoccupied to find any real humour in the situation. “Loki and I will meet with Laufey now. We’ll be leaving soon I think. We’ll drink when we return to Asgard now. Copiously, I think. Sif, a word.”

Sif nodded, moving in the direction that Thor had angled his head. Loki watched as they both both stood a few steps away, exchanging words. At first, it was clearly all business, Thor issuing orders, Sif responding with sharp nods, a serious set to her jaw. But then it shifted. When the orders stopped, Thor’s expression softened, and he said something that seemed like a question. Sif’s soft smile lay bare every chink in her armor as she basked too freely in the light of the Odinson.

“Your hand is bleeding,” Hogun said quietly, prompting Loki to look at him, finding too sympathetic eyes.

Loki brought his fisted hand up, realising he had been digging his fingernails into his palm so hard, the wound from the night before had re-opened. Loki looked at his bloodied palm. “It’s nothing. An old wound.”

Laufey had eventually called for them, and guards ushered them into the same room. This time the table contained trays of food to breakfast on. Thor made sure to eat as much as dictated by diplomacy. Loki did not. Sitting next to Thor as Laufey dispensed advice it had taken a whole night to come up with, Loki pondered instead the idea that if his wound didn’t close, he could perhaps build his own bridge between Jotunheim and Asgard, and where his blood ran out, he could possibly borrow the blood of others.

“Loki?”

Loki snapped out of his bloody reverie by the sound of Thor’s voice. He looked at both Thor and Laufey with a bland uninterested look, waiting for them to catch him up. Laufey seemed to realise Loki was not going to ask to be caught up.

“As I said to Odinson, the matter is clear,” Laufey said, “the work of dark magic is best undone by dark magic.”

“Mother once told me, the dark can't be used to chase the dark. Only the light can do that,” Loki said with a frown, unable to remember when she had said it, but sure that she had. Or her perhaps it was another mother to another Loki, in a place where they hadn’t been taken from each other.

“A fine sentiment, but of no use to you at this time,” Laufey said.

“No. No light reaches this far,” Loki said with a tired smile, aware of Thor’s gaze and refusing to meet it. “What is _your_ solution?”

“To displace a realm you need power, the kind of which is in the Casket. However, the Casket can only give you a certain kind of power, and it is not the kind that moves realms. You need to find something that can move worlds.”

“And how do we do that?” Thor asked, sounding as if his patience was fast running out.

Laufey was looking at Loki, and Loki’s heart was skipping beats, anticipating danger. “By looking,” he said, “beyond veils.”

Thor was quiet. Odin would have told him the veil was not to be lifted. It existed for a reason. Good old Odin would have grunted out an unintelligible objection and swept out of Jotunheim in a huff.

“There is no Asgardian well-versed enough in that magic. Not anymore,” Thor said quietly.

“There is one, I am sure of it,” Laufey said looking directly at Loki. “Your consort spent his entire childhood trying to escape the walls of this city, through mirrors, through glass, ice, and water. He was seeing far away places without ever stepping outside his chamber.”

“Yes,” Loki said with a smile, “Until you took away all the mirrors and told me that if I ever ran away, those I truly loved would suffer.”

“It didn't stop you from your tricks,” Laufey said.

“No, it just kept me from fleeing my prison,” Loki said.

Thor stood up. “It is time we left. Loki.”

Loki stood up, heavy and blunted by this visit to Jotunheim. As he turned to leave, Laufey said, “Your realm is falling. It would be best you act quickly. If the task is too much, then perhaps the Svartalfar can be of use. Maybe they have not forged their last weapon for you just yet.”

“I thank you for your hospitality,” Thor said with a note of finality. “And I hope you’ll stand with us during this time.”

“Of course,” Laufey said. “We are bound by blood and by bond.”

Though Loki wanted nothing more than to run ahead of them all and escape Jotunheim, he somehow managed to keep pace with Thor all the way, silent as they travelled out of the main city, and silent across the Rainbow Bridge, Thor preoccupied, Loki yearning for solitude. That moment was still bright in Loki’s mind, the way his heart had never hated Jotunheim as much as that day. Back in the palace and in his chambers, he removed his long coat with enough violence to rip its seams, throwing it to the ground, before simmering angrily where he stood.

When the anger faded after the silent ritual of making compromises with himself, he sank heavily into an armchair with a goblet of wine, letting all the rage sink somewhere onto the seabed of all his complaints. He knew Thor would arrive later. There was no way of knowing his mood. Rage at Laufey’s games, or rage at Loki for not containing his own discontent. Or would it be drunken affection laced with the frustration of being just another of fate’s pawns? Or maybe he wouldn’t come. Maybe the last thing he needed right now was a Jotun. Loki didn’t wait. He slumped down in his chair, hiding in the shadows between dimmed lights.

When Thor arrived, he was neither drunk nor angry, walking in heavily, and looking as though he had attempted sleep, but sleep had eluded him. He stood under the warmth of lamplight, in breeches and bare feet, a dark cloak wrapped about his shoulders. Staring at Loki thoughtfully. He said, “Mother knew the magic of which Laufey spoke. I recall the many times Father warned her against it.”

Loki swallowed. “I know.”

“She showed you?” Thor asked, something as sharp as hurt sparkling in his eyes.

“Inadvertently. She didn't know I’d seen her,” Loki explained.

Thor looked baffled. “And from that you have taught yourself? From a single moment?”

“There wasn't much else to do on Jotunheim,” Loki said. “I thought perhaps I could…”

“What?” Thor pressed when Loki trailed off.

“I thought I could find her,” Loki murmured. “See her. Talk to her. But Laufey put a stop to it. There were Jotun wards everywhere clipping the wings of my magic, allowing me to reach out to things I could never touch.”

“What did you see?” Thor asked, a question that surprised Loki.

“Away from the city, Jotunheim is rather beautiful,” Loki said quietly. “There’s a mountain range that from afar looks painted in blue and purple hues. The sky above it could mistake you into thinking you’ve found Asgard.”

“Is that what you thought?” Thor asked.

Loki sighed, blinking heavily. “Did you really come here to ask me about my childhood?”

Thor watched him. “I should have asked before this.”

Loki stood up. “ _Enough_. Say what it is you came here to say.”

Thor seemed to be assessing Loki, as if he was seeing Loki for the first time. “I want you to find how we are to save Asgard.”

“And how would you like me to do that?” Loki said, feeling anger vibrate in his bones.

“You know how,” Thor said.

“No,” Loki said.

“It is not a request,” Thor said quietly. “It is the command of your king.”

Loki shook his head, swallowing hard. “I won’t do it.”

“Why?” Thor asked, as Loki stood tight-mouthed. “If your answer is no, then you must give me a reason.”

Loki stared ahead, looking past Thor to see into the past, his mother recoiling from a mirror in his room as he slept. She turned around swiftly, and he shut his eyes, feigning sleep until she rushed out, stifling a wet sound.

“She saw something in my mirror,” Loki murmured, remembering. “She thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I saw her looking into my mirror, I heard her song. She was summoning the fates, singing for them to lift the veil. She was quiet for the longest time. When she finally spoke, I thought she was calling me. But she wasn’t. She was looking in the mirror. _Loki, no,_ she said. Days later, I was dragged kicking and screaming from Asgard.”

Thor’s jaw was clenched hard, and Loki recognised the heat of anger in his eyes. He flinched when Thor’s hand came up, cupping the back of Loki’s neck as he stepped closer. “By my word, there is nothing you can do which would give me cause to send you away.”

“What if I disobey your command?” Loki asked.

“Then I will beg you,” Thor said. “The choice of how you give me what I want is yours.”

“And what if the answer is still no?” Loki asked. Thor’s hand left him, slow and heavy. He already looked defeated. Loki shook his head with frustration. “We could save everyone. Save the relics and treasures. We could find new land and continue. You do not have to lose a thing.”

“I lost my mother. My father. For a time I lost you. I will not lose Asgard, not one speck of its soil will sacrificed. This is the realm of my forefathers, my home,” Thor said, the pride in his voice finally being broken by a crack of grief. “If there is no way to save it, then I must fall with Asgard.”

“Then you shouldn’t be king! Defeat is _not_ how kings die,” Loki growled angrily.

Thor stepped in close, but Loki could see he was restraining himself, fingers curled tight. “There does not have to be defeat.”

Loki shook his head, leaning away from Thor.

“Loki...please,” Thor said, the whisper consumed by the space between them, for no one else’s ears. Thor gave him an imploring look. “ _Please_.”

“If I do this and am driven to madness?” Loki whispered.

“Then I ask that the Fates mete out their harshest punishment," Thor murmured. "I ask to be denied the halls of Val-”

“ _Stop_ ,” Loki said, staring at Thor. “Stop.”

Thor looked away, Loki still staring at him. No plea nor command held any meaning now. The Fates had been tempted. 


	21. Chapter 21

How terrified Loki had once felt of the monsters his mother saw in his mirror. Now every mirror of his looked back at him tainted with dark magic, and he barely blinked an eye. _Tell me,_ he said instead, _tell me what you are._ The night before his saving of Asgard, he had turned from his mother’s books and crystals, and looked into his mirror. He was beginning to forget his true visage. The yellow hair, the pinked skin, the blue eyes, they all seemed a lie. This Loki before him seemed truer with his black hair, his pale skin, and eyes that held green secrets under blue depths. Or...perhaps not truer. Perhaps more desirable. A Loki he preferred to be. There was fire in the greens of those eyes.

Temptation arose as peered at his reflection, prodding his mind from looking at himself to looking for another. Loki craved Steve. Not just to touch, but to see. To hear his voice. A thing remembered wasn’t enough. An idea, an echo of something missed just made the craving worst. Just as his resolve almost broke, in Thor had walked, wearing a new smile, one Loki had never seen before. Loki had greeted him with a smile of his own, not as new, and not as real.

Thor nodded towards a stack of books, and the mess of runes and crystals. “Why do I recognise these?”

“They belonged to Mother,” Loki said. Thor blinked at Loki, before picking up a crystal, turning it over in his hand with a wistful look on his face. “The Dwarves have been too kind in their offer of what’s needed tomorrow. So, I’ve looked over their generous instructions and decided to use Mother’s instruments instead.”

Thor nodded, smiling a little. “I am glad you have found use for these. It would have pleased her.”

Loki stood for a moment, fishing the waters of his mind for something to say. Finally, he settled on a truth they could both share. “I miss her.”

Thor’s smile faded a little, as he nodded and put the crystal back in its place, clearing his throat as he said, “She was the best of us all.”

They stood in silence for a while, both of them too much sons of stony kings in this moment, no more words of comfort occurring to either of them. Finally Loki laughed, shaking his head. “I remember how she once shouted at Odin, as if he were just some silly child. I don’t think anyone else would have had the nerve.”

Thor grinned. “She did that a lot.”

“Really?” Loki asked with a grin. He laughed. “Good.”

They spent some of the night, remembering her, Thor telling stories of moments Loki was unable to share. When Thor left, it was with a comforting squeeze of Loki’s shoulder. Loki had watched Thor leave and his heart momentarily replayed the years and years of loss. He realised he missed Thor, an impossible feeling Loki ruminated on into the morning, even as he watched the preparations for the move, silently asking the Tesseract he kept hidden, _what else can you move? Can you move time? Can you take us back to before it all soured?_

Loki forced his mind away from things that meant nothing in the moment, running his finger along an arm of the Tesseract rig, until he was in the heart of the frame, feeling out the cradle where the Tesseract would sit. A little too cosily, Loki thought. A tight fit for an object he wanted back in his hands as quick as possible. A snap here, a discreet glamour there, and the cradle was more giving, ready for swift removal.

“All is well?” Loki turned around to see Sindri eyeing the rig with curiosity.

“Just thought I’d take a look,” Loki said. “Wouldn’t want the whole thing to collapse at an inopportune moment.”

“I’m sure that’s quite impossible,” Sindri said, looking a little offended by the suggestion.

“Really?” Loki asked, turning to grip a part of the rig. “What if I twist this?”

Sindri looked as if he was putting up with an annoying child. “It is quite stable.”

“This?” Loki moved his hand, receiving a humouring look. “Or this. What about _this_?”

“Stop!” Sindri snapped. Lok’s fingers curled away as he smiled. Sindri was red in the face, his mouth flapping open and shut with embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, my prince, but apply enough pressure, anything is liable to crack.”

“So it seems,” Loki said with a smile, spotting Thor in one of the entrances to the cavern. Loki patted Sindri on the shoulder and walked away to join Thor, who pulled him by the front of his coat into a dark corner of the passage outside.

“They are here to help, Loki,” Thor told him quietly, depositing him against a wall. Loki opened his mouth to tell Thor he was only being friendly, receiving a bland look before he could even utter a word. “I know you dislike them, but you need only tolerate them a little longer.”

“Good,” Loki said, nodding in the general direction of Sindri. “I particularly dislike _that_ one.”

“You hide it well,” Thor said with a small smile. “So. Tell me. How go the plans to fly an entire realm?”

Loki grinned. “Good. Though, I’d say it’s more like controlling falling than flying. Should it all go to plan, we should land on Midgard with no more than a few scratches. After today, we become part of Midgard. Their world is our world. You will have to decide if that means becoming a conqueror, or a friend.”

“Conqueror?” Thor suggested with a grin.

Loki grinned back. “Well, Odin did used to say that that people are made to be ruled.”

“As were you,” Thor said in the comfort of the shadows. Loki guarded his expression, but was intrigued. “You are still an heir to a throne. Whether you want to rule Jotunheim or not, it is yours. All you need tell me is when, and I will march behind you, as consort to a king of Jotunheim.”

Loki stared. “You speak of making war with allies.”

“A war with Jotunheim will come. You are right. It is what Laufey wants out of this union,” Thor said. “So let him have war. You can have Jotunheim.”

“Lofty promises, my king,” Loki murmured with a small smile. “Have you been drinking?”

Thor grinned, lighting up the dim passage. He moved to lean his shoulder against the same wall which was up against Loki’s back. Thor seemed young, unburdened. The way he must have been before Odin placed Asgard on his shoulders. The way Loki never really got to see him. The way perhaps Sif must have known him.

“Wine will flow tonight,” Thor said, Loki nodding in agreement. “Will you drink a cup with me?”

Smile still in place, Loki nodded. “I’ll drink a cup with you.”

“You will?” Thor asked with a pleased smile.

“Yes,” Loki said with a quiet laugh. “I will. Would you like it in writing?”

Thor idly scratched his beard. “Your word will do.”

“Glad to hear it,” Loki said. “Tonight we drink, and tomorrow we can let Midgard know of our intentions, before they decide to give us an explosive welcome.”

“They would not dare,” Thor said, looking more amused than worried.

“Oh, I don’t know. They _are_ delightfully insolent,” Loki said.

Thor’s mood seemed to sour just a fraction. “I’d forgotten how delightful you find the Midgardians.”

Loki smiled slightly, telling Thor. “Smile, my king. Today is a good day.”

Thor’s gazed turned inwards momentarily, before his shoulder relaxed. He nodded at Loki and graced him with the smallest of smiles.

“My king, Prince Loki?” The sound of a woman’s voice popped the bubble of the moment, and they returned to the cavern side by side.

The voice belonged to an Asgardian diviner. She wasn’t hard to spot in the room, her black hair combed back into an ornate production, and her bronzed cheeks and mouth shining against her dark skin. She gave both Thor and Loki a small bow of the head as she saw them approach.

“My Lady Hege,” Loki said. He nodded towards the Casket’s altar.

“The altar is transmitting perfectly, and the stabiliser crystals have been tested and slotted into place,” Hege said, looking pleased.

“And what of my other instruction?” Loki asked.

She nodded. “The Dwarves have been kept at arm’s length, my prince. No one other than myself and members of my team have been anywhere near the altar.”

“Good work,” Loki said. “You and your team are relieved. Go. Make your way to the city hall.”

“My king. My prince,” Hege said, nodding at them before returning to her team and indicating they should start packing their instruments.

Turning to Thor, Loki lifted a hand and gestured towards the large black slab of an altar, Hege’s team moving off now that their work was done. Loki and Thor stood in front of the altar, which itself seemed like a black marble casket, smooth on top but for two hand grips on the surface. Loki waved his hand over the centre and a portion of it sank inwards, before the Casket of Ancient Winters slowly rose up, nestled in the space between the hand grips. In the black shine of the altar, Loki saw something like uncertainty pass across Thor’s features. Loki was saved having to tell Thor there was nothing to fear when Sindri joined them. Loki gave him an impatient look.

“Runes, my prince,” Sindri said, holding up a small box made of gold, covered in incantations.

“How thoughtful. But there’s no need. We’re hardly barbarians,” Loki said. Sindri frowned, until Loki brought up his hand to show a silken pouch. “The runes of Queen Frigga.”

“Forgive me,” Sindri said, looking a little burnt if the deepening of the flush on his already too pink skin was anything to go by. “I mean only to help.”

“A bit too much perhaps,” Thor said in an unimpressed tone, glaring at the Dwarf. Sindri bowed his head apologetically.

Loki opened the pouch and tipped onto the altar a small pile of pebble-sized golden tablets, each one with an inky black rune inscribed onto it. With his forefinger, he pushed them into an order on the altar, murmuring quietly the incantations that summoned each rune into living, doing, and knowing. When the last one was in place, he said, “That which is sought from these runes, I take as certain, and that which is committed through these runes, I take as written.”

Small specks lit up across the altar, like stars burning against the night sky. The edges of the runes seemed to be glowing, though Loki was never sure if it was the tablets that were glowing, or if for a moment their eternal magic was simply visible to him. Neither Sindri nor Thor had changed in demeanour at all as the runes started to breath with light.

“Is that it?” Thor asked. Loki shook his head, watching the tablets. Loki shook his head. “What then?”

“When you ask questions of the runes, where they fall and lay is your answer. When you ask them to do your bidding, you are to wait. Magic demands your utmost respect,” Loki said. He looked at Sindri. “Is that not so?”

Sindri seemed slightly taken aback and nodded. “Indeed, my prince. There is no truer thing.”

“Indeed,” Loki said quietly. “There really isn’t.”

The runes suddenly shifted to lay in a precise line. Their movement had sounded almost like a bell. Once again, Loki wasn’t sure if the sound had happened, or had been imagined. No one else seemed to register the sound which had been a painful high pitch in Loki’s ear. Loki placed his hand on the runes and closed his eyes. He saw golden strings that could only be plucked, cut, and tied by the mind. He set to untying the knots that existed, and retying them anew, murmuring each action under his breath, spoken to be heard only by the Norns. He opened his eyes and withdrew his hand.

“I ask the runes know me, Loki Laufeyson, and know all that is mine, and I ask the runes to know him, Thor Odinson, and to him pass one of what is mine, this Casket of Ancient Winters,” Loki said.

The runes moved again, this time forming together to make a large circle of sorts. Loki put his hand onto the circle, palm down, fingers spread. After a moment, the whole altar began to glow golden, staying that way for a few seconds, before it abruptly turned to black again. Loki lifted his hand and the golden circle that had been beneath it broke apart, before rejoining.

Loki nodded to Thor. “Go ahead.”

Thor frowned at the circle and tentatively placed his hand in it. The altar turned golden almost immediately. Of course, thought Loki, these were the runes of a mother who adored her son. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes just a little. After the extended display of affection for Thor, the altar stopped glowing, and became silent again. Loki nodded at Thor, and the circle swirled apart before the tablets rearranged themselves around the Casket, boxing it in. Out of the arrangement, every second rune lifted off the altar, floating one finger-space above,

“Now,” Loki said, “we both place a hand each on the Casket.”

Loki held his hand out over the casket, palm down, waiting for Thor. Thor looked at Loki, and followed his example. “Together,” Loki said. “After three. One. Two. _Three_.”

Both pressed their hands down on the Casket at the same time and the runes lifted off the altar, spinning around Thor and Loki’s wrists in an infinite loop. They were moving so fast, one wrong move and they would end up slicing into flesh. Loki felt his hand falter at the sensation of heat, just as the runes collapsed onto the altar, lying inert. A moment later, a searing hot pain shot through Loki’s fingers and he pulled away from the Casket.

Loki looked at his fingertips, seeing the kind of burn the touch of a Jotun might leave behind on another’s skin. He swallowed. “Well. That’s one way of knowing it worked.”

Thor was staring at his hand on the Casket. A moment later, both his hands had moved to the Casket’s sides and he was lifting it up, entranced as it parts of it seemed to glow in his hold. Loki had held the Casket, but never tested its power. He remembered it had spoken to him on some skin deep level, and its power had sung in his veins. Odin’s books said that the greatest weapons could wield the warrior, school the scholar, and fuel the stars, that the Caskets were such weapons. Powerful. Addictive. Corruptive.

“Did you know, the Caskets are made in pairs?” Loki said. Thor looked up from the Casket, and it was almost like watching someone come out of a trance. He frowned at Loki in question. “The Casket of Ancient Winters is one of a pair. There is a missing one, the Casket of Eternal Springs. Laufey spoke of it once. It is said, where the sun is made of gold, the sea is made of honey, the earth is rich bread, and the air is pearlescent, you have found the home of the Casket of Eternal Springs.”

Thor nodded thoughtfully and put the Casket back on the altar, where it slotted into his cradle with a loud click.

“I commend the prince on the ritual. You must have studied the pages I gave you most thoroughly,” Sindri said, not looking all that impressed at all.

“Indeed. I then studied the books of my mother. I was surprised to find that you use an older form of incantations that would have in error tied all that is mine to Thor, rather than just this one thing,” Loki said with a smile. “An oversight, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” Sindri said, doing a good job of looking surprised. “Of course, if you suspect ulterior motive, I cannot imagine how we would benefit from that oversight.”

Loki nodded. “Me neither. Makes it all the more interesting. I see Thor’s friends have taken an interest in the rig.”

Loki looked in the direction of the rig where Fandral was standing with a hand on his hip, pointing at a part that connected to the black slab next to the rig. Volstagg was with him, eyeing the contraption. Sindri darted in their direction with an exclamation of, “That is not for leaning on!”

“You know, he may be growing on me,” Loki said thoughtfully, before turning back towards Thor. “Well, the altar has its sacrifice. Now it becomes your station. When you lay hands on the Casket, it will release its power, and the altar will channel that power, slowing down our descent whilst making sure we don’t land in a crater of our own making, or in pieces. Ah... Lady Sif. New?.”

Sif and Hogun approached them, offering tight bows of the head to Thor and Loki, before Sif told them both, “The palace is secure.”

“Heimdall says he will open the bridge soon,” Hogun said. He nodded to the tablet by the Tesseract rig. “The tablet in the Bifrost is operational.”

“In that case,” Loki said looking at Thor, “it’s time the alarms were sounded.”

Thor looked about until he spotted Fandral and Volstagg, waving them over and telling them, “Sound the alarms and have the passages to the caverns emptied so they can be sealed.”

“Of course,” Loki mused, “if the Tesseract and Casket do somehow end up encroaching each other’s boundaries, no amount of sealed passages will save Asgard from the ensuing explosion.”

All four warriors stared at Loki. Volstagg scowled and said, “You are not much for rousing speeches, are you?”

Loki arched a brow. “Sealing the cavern off will protect no one should anything go wrong.”

“Sindri says the Dwarves stationed outside the passages will be able to stop catastrophe with their wards and charms. If there’s a chance they can avert disaster, we must take it,” Thor said. Looking at his warriors, he sighed. “Even so...you should all return to the palace.”

“And again, we say no to that,” Sif said with a firm nod, the nerves in her voice betraying her emotions. “Our place is here with you.”

“We are all agreed,” Hogun said looking at Loki, who shrugged, unsurprised by their loyalty to Thor. Thor too was not surprised, if his warm smile was anything to go by.

Thor nodded to Hogun and Sif. “As soon as the alarms sound, give the order to seal the passages. Make sure anyone who shouldn’t be in here, isn’t. Sindri will remain with us to create a shield on the inside of the cavern.”

“He will also try to steal the Tesseract, so might be a good to keep an eye on him,” Loki said. “He’s been checked for hidden weapons and devices, but feel free to give him another thorough search.”

Loki received a few sceptical looks, until Thor said. “Loki is right. The Dwarf will most certainly try to steal the Tesseract.”

The warriors all nodded, dispersing to carry out their duties. Slowly, the cavern began to empty, the guards moving into the passages in preparation to seal them from the outside. The diviners were already gone, as were Sindri’s fellow Dwarves. He stood monitoring the rig’s output on the tablet for a while, before heading back to Loki.

“Prince Loki, the bridge is open. The tablet has begun to register its activity,” Sindri said. Loki glanced in its direction to find it had indeed changed, the scrolling runes faded into the background, a sharp red line appearing instead, rhythmically fluctuating.

“So it has,” Loki said, as the warning bells began to ring across Asgard. “To your station then.”

Sindri’s station was a nice distance from the rig, a part of the platform that ran all the way around the cavern, with hand railings attached. There he would use Svartalfar magic to seal the cavern from the inside. Loki watched him take his place, hooking himself to the railings so he could place both hands against the wall. A film of blue began to spread from his hands, slowly creeping across the walls and the barricaded doors. The warriors took up their places on the platform too, as the bells continued to ring deep and ominous above them all.

“Keep your eyes on me for when the time comes,” Loki told Thor, nodding towards the altar.

“I always have my eyes on you,” Thor said. Loki gave him a bland expression. “You were saying.”

Loki brought out the Tesseract. “Once the cube has opened the portal and connected with the bridge, it will follow the bridge’s path to the landing site. The Casket’s power needs to be distributed as necessary throughout. Once your hands are on the Casket, keep them there until I say so.”

When Loki stopped talking, he realised Thor wasn’t just listening, but had gone silent. He was staring at Loki as if he’d never seen him before. Finally, he said, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Loki asked. “What choice do I have? Watch Asgard fall? Watch you fall with it?”

Thor smiled at him. “So...you do this for me.”

Loki snorted. “Hardly. I’d just prefer to not have to clean any Thor shaped stains off the ruins of Asgard.”

Thor stepped towards Loki, pulling him into a tight embrace. Loki stood stiffly for a moment, aware that the warriors and Sindri were watching, but then smiled, patting Thor on the back. It could have been like this, Loki thought, if he hadn’t been sent away. They could have always had this feeling of kinship. But the Fates of course had their own plans.

Thor pulled back, leaving his hand on Loki’s shoulder. He gave Loki a firm nod. “Shall we?”

Loki gave a small bow of the head. “My king.”

Thor took his place at the altar as Loki headed to the rig, looking at the Tesseract, and murmuring. “Don’t let me down now, will you?”

The Tesseract was silent, but Loki, like most madmen heard its promises and took them to heart as he slotted the cube into its cradle. Loki thought he felt a buzzing rush through the frame and into the ground, like a million bees preparing to fly. He turned to the black tablet which was displaying the energy flow of the bridge in one line, the tentative hum of the altar in another, and the Tesseract’s strange heartbeat in a third. Loki moved his fingers across the tablet, like a musician playing two strings.

Asgard shook, as if the ground was quaking, and storms were landing. Somewhere in Asgard, buildings were most certainly toppling over. Everyone in the cavern was gripping their portion of the metal rails built into the rock of the wall. Thor was holding onto the hand grips either side of the Casket, as Loki had one hand gripping a metal rail attached to the wall near the tablet. There seemed to be nothing but the shaking of Asgard for a while.

“Loki?” Thor called out, as a large lump of the cavern ceiling fell by Loki’s side. It seemed Sindri had fallen to the side, his seal breaking. He scrambled back quickly, remaining on his knees an pressing his hands to the wall, sealing the cavern again.

Loki watched the tablet and the intertwining of the Tesseract and Rainbow Bridge’s under-workings. The Tesseract’s reading was strange, intermittently jumping at and away from the bridge’s scrolling line.

“Loki!” Thor growled after another jolt.

“Patience!” Loki looked at the two lines on the tablet bumping against each other tentatively. “Patience...”

The two lines jumped and joined. First the movement was a strange downward glide that made Loki’s stomach roll. Then came the sensation of moving into a fall, heading towards plummeting. The air out of the cavern was being sucked out, and Loki couldn’t get a word out of his mouth. He looked at Thor, gritting his teeth and managing to nod. Thor was holding tight to his post, his feet momentarily lifting from the ground. It seemed by sheer will power that Thor remained attached to the altar with one hand holding a grip, the other landing on the Casket.

The Casket glowed, and the altar lit up. Asgard was slowing down. Thor had angled his body so his hand was holding into the Casket, rather than just touching. His other hand left the grip and quickly also held onto the edge of the Casket. Asgard almost lurched to what felt like a standstill. Loki fell to the ground, breathing hard.

“Did we stop?” Sif asked, breathing hard as she clung to a railing.

Loki looked at the tablet, where the Tesseract’s line seemed to be intertwined with that of the Rainbow Bridge and intermittently looping with that of the Casket. Loki touched his fingers to the tablet, a sequence of runes appearing near his hand, which he used to probe the information he was seeing. The tablet projected a surprising scene. “The Tesseract hasn’t just created a portal to Midgard, it’s formed a bubble around Asgard.”

“Is that good?” Fandral called out. “That sounds good.”

“It’s very good,” Loki said. “But I didn’t tell it to do that. It’s learned by looking at the bridge. The bridge’s flaws to be exact.”

Loki stood up, keeping his eyes on the tablet. The Tesseract was still looping around the Casket, regulating the rate at which the altar was thrusting out energy. _Controlling it_ , Loki thought quietly. What happened when one powerful thing connected with a another and _didn’t_ blow everything to smithereens, he wondered. Perhaps something to probe another time. Loki angled his head at the tablet, watching the blinking of the Rainbow Bridge, murmuring, “We’re here. The end of the line.”

First came the jolt. It shook Asgard hard, it was certainty that monuments had toppled. Then came the flash of white blinding light. The cavern completely disappeared into it. Loki heard the sound of rock fall, more of the ceiling dropping. Sindri’s seal had collapsed. Or possibly his hands were now interested in something else. In the blinding light, Loki managed to make out the Tesseract’s unique glow and moved towards it, performing his slight of hand before falling to the ground as the bright light receded after a final flash.

“It’s done,” Loki said, shaking a little, blinking as his eyes continued to adjust.

“What was that light?” Fandral asked. Loki looked to his side to see Fandral jumping off the platform, grimacing and rubbing his eyes.

Thor was still standing at the altar, a layer of red dust from the rock debris circling him . Loki squinted at him to see him still holding onto the Casket. When Loki looked back at the tablet, the line showed the altar was no longer transmitting, the Casket asleep. Loki got up, moving towards Thor.

“It’s okay, Thor, you can let go,” Loki said. “The light...it’ll pass. My eyes are seeing better already,” Loki said reaching Thor’s side and coming to a dead stop. Thor’s skin was burnt blue, the burn of the Casket, of the Jotun touch, and he was as still as a sculpture, his eyes staring ahead blindly. “Thor?”

Thor didn’t move. He remained there holding the Casket as Loki stared at him silently. Loki thought he heard someone else call out to him, to Thor, but it could easily have been imagined. Nothing was looking or sounding right. Loki reached out slowly to touch Thor’s face. He wasn’t sure his fingers had even registered touching anything as Thor’s body disintegrated, turning to dust before his eyes. Loki stumbled back from the spot, the taste of ash on his mouth, the prickle of it in his eyes, and the scratch of it on his face.

The warriors thundered past him, all of them staring at the altar, spinning around as if Thor had hidden himself in plain sight. Sif turned in Loki’s direction and just stared at him, both of them turned to mutes. Hogun spoke first, crouching on the ground, looking at fingers that were tinted with dust. He looked at Loki and said, “Ash.”

“What are you saying?” Volstagg yelled. “What do you mean ash?”

“What do you _think_?” Fandral grated out. “We saw it, didn’t we? We saw him... _crumble_ , didn’t we?”

“No,” Volstagg said, shaking Fandral by the front of his coat. “It was a trick. These Dwarves. Where is he? Where’s that devious Dwarf?”

Loki didn’t seek Sindri out, his eyes still on Sif, hers on him. She was shaking her head. He didn’t know what it meant. He just stared, until a firm grip on his arm made him look away to find Hogun trying to direct his attention on Sindri who was doubled over, clutching at his chest. He stumbled towards the altar, looking down at himself in confusion, before screaming as a light burst out of his chest, creating a large rippling circle that warped the space around it, hiding the rig behind.

Dwarves flew out of the portal firing and filling the cave. Loki was hit square in the chest, falling to the ground in a daze, the warriors attempting a clash with the Dwarves. Through a blur of pain and confusion, Loki watched as Fandral fell, injured. Volstagg went down hard. Hogun was being subdued by two Dwarves, bloodied and beaten. Sif crashed to the ground, getting back up on her knees only to have a blade held to her throat.

Dwarves had surrounded Loki, at least three of them holding him down, two of them holding his wrists in a painful grasp that had locked his fingers, his arm being pulled back from his body until he cried out in pain. Something cool circled his wrist and closed with a hard snap. The universe dimmed and Loki’s head spun. He knew this tether. He had seen what it could do. His magic. They had locked his magic. As soon as they stepped away, Loki curled up onto his side, wrist close to his chest, his arm in agony from the shoulder down. He could taste blood in his mouth, and the cavern felt cold and damp.

Loki blinked heavily at the portal which stood silent, having emptied out its Dwarf army. Then out stepped a Jotun, and another, and another, ending with Laufey who crossed the threshold of the portal and slowly surveyed the scene before him. He looked in the direction of the altar and walked towards it with an almost measured elegance, before taking the Casket in his hands, and holding it aloft as the Dwarves looked on and the Jotuns cheered.

Loki watched in silence at first, and then started to laugh. What a fine trick the Fates had played.


	22. Chapter 22

Laufey wasted no time in making his victory known. The Jotuns broke down the barricades and rushed into the passages that would take them up to the palace. From there they would spread out and wreak havoc. With the Casket in Laufey’s hands, havoc would come easy. Loki knew this, and so did Thor’s warriors. He watched as Sif gallantly continued to fight against her captors as they dragged her through the portal. Close behind her, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg raged as they were dragged away from Asgard.

No one lay a finger on Loki. Laufey stood watching him in silence before he gave Loki what seemed like an almost deferential bow of the head, tilted in the direction of the portal. Loki pulled himself up into a sitting position, laughing quietly at this newfound softly softly approach. He stood up slowly, his clothes covered in the dirt of Asgard, and the ashes of his dead king, his body feeling leaden. He looked around the room, taking in each Jotun face, each Dwarf, and then Laufey.

They watched him return, waiting. There would be no dragging him to what lay on the other side of the portal. He was expected to go of his free will. This was some test of allegiance perhaps, of his willingness to be submissive. Loki’s arm ached, bone deep from his wrist to his shoulder. He cradled it close to his chest and took a lumpen step forward, slowly walking towards the portal under everyone’s gaze. Laufey’s square shoulders seem to relax fractionally, Jotun eyes turning to him, some in suspicion, some in surprise.

Loki stepped through the portal, its power sweeping him across space and time speck by speck, until he stepped out, the force of the portal’s expulsion as if someone had shoved him in the back. Mirrors, he thought, were much less uncouth. He stepped forward onto fresh snow atop frozen ground. Snow was coming down in flurries from the inky blue sky. Loki stared up into it, feeling its cool touch on his too warm skin. Memories flashed hard in his mind: a cloak, blood red. The sand yellow of someone’s hair. The balmy blue of their eyes. The red raw burning of skin.

Loki let out a gasp of shock at the skin deep pain that shot through him, pushing him to his knees. He buried his burning hands in the snow, eyes fixed ahead, searching for something good in those visions, something like an answer, a solution. His mind gave him Thor standing on Midgard, wearing Midgardian apparel and pleading with Loki as he stood in front of a Destroyer, only to be struck and flung away. Loki’s body jerked at the memory, face heating up, breath becoming thin. He squeezed his eyes shut, head hanging down heavy.

“Your halfling has gone mad.” Loki opened his eyes, head coming up sharp at the voice behind him. The thought made him laugh. Laufey with his prized Casket, and a dementing son. Victory tainted by his very own bad blood.

“Bring him,” Laufey said, walking past Loki and leaving him kneeling in the snow.

Loki watched him take an eternity to shrink into the distance, before being swallowed up by his fortress. He never looked back, not even once, carrying the Casket close to himself as one might carry a newborn child. Loki shook his head and laughed as a rough hand hauled him to his feet and shoved him forward. He walked towards Laufey’s fortress, passing ruins where an ancient stone throne remained, and Laufey still used to cast his judgements. Jotunheim it seemed was destined to be a place that belonged in the past.

He walked into the large stone fortress that had been his childhood home, surrounded by Jotun guards that marched him through dark and empty corridors, no one witnessing his return. The guards stopped by a large heavy looking door made of black stone. Its innards made several clunking noises as it unlocked and slowly opened. Loki was unceremoniously shoved inside, the door slowly closing behind him.

The room was empty but for a bed in the centre, circular just like the room. The wall, ceiling and floor was made of textured rock, dark and bland, absorbing most of the light that fell on it. The lighting was dim, casting long shadows in the windowless chamber. Loki slowly spun on his heel, eyeing every portion of the room. He frowned as he turned, and turned, and turned, stopping to eye the bed, covered with its soft furs and plump pillows. Loki walked up to the centre of the room, looking down at the bed. It screamed of comfort. A little too loudly.

He turned away and headed to the side of the room, a spot not visible from the door, and slowly slid down the wall to sit on the floor, where he patiently waited.

# ***

Laufey arrived late. Loki felt that near to an Asgardian day’s worth of time had elapsed before the king of Jotunheim finally arrived. Loki watched him walk into the room, accompanied by two guards. On finding the bed empty, he looked around the chamber until his eyes fell on Loki. The guards had tensed too before finding Loki. They were confident with the prison cell they had built Loki, not bothering to keep an eye on the inside from the outside. Loki smiled, looking right at Laufey. The Jotun frowned slightly, and waved his guards away. The door locked, leaving them both alone. Laufey walked a few steps closer to Loki, still keeping a distance, his long shadow falling at Loki’s feet. Laufey was silent, either waiting, or contemplating.

“The simplest method of passing the Casket from one to another is death,” Laufey said by way of greeting and breaking the lengthy silence. “In death, we relinquish all that we possess, and all that was ours can with ease become another’s. Think back to the first time you touched the Casket after Odin’s passing. It must have sat on a pedestal, waiting for your touch, having lost the command of the All-Father. The Casket was forged as a gift to be handed over the remains of a fallen king. It is in death it passes the easiest from one to another.”

Loki did think back. He and Thor had gone into the vault together. There was a hammer there, Mjolnir, forged in the heart of a star. Thor had reached out, so much hope and expectation in his eyes, and the hammer had been more immovable than a mountain. His face had fell, and he stared in shock. _I am not worthy?_ Loki wasn’t sure if that whisper had been meant for him, but he had heard it and was unable to meet Thor’s eyes when the new King of Asgard looked at him with hurt and fury, before thundering away. Loki, curious as ever, had stepped towards the hammer and considered it. How pure a heart was needed to lift such a thing? He’d snorted: probably a purer heart than his.

It was when he turned his back on the hammer, that he saw the Casket, sitting on its pedestal. He’d almost floated towards it and before he knew it, he was lifting it, and his skin was turning Jotun blue. No Destroyer stepped forward, no alarm alerted intrusion. He had held it, and it had become his. Loki swallowed, his breath sticking in his chest as the realisations struck, it was his by mistake. Had Thor not stormed out, he would have lifted it too, and it would have passed to him under the death of Odin. He grinned, shaking his head.

Laufey frowned at him with curiosity, pacing a few steps away. When he looked back at Loki, he said, "The Casket at his brightest, burns right through its conduit when it is used with such force, whether its master is Jotun, or whether it is a pretender. When I realised that you planned to use the Casket, I knew then, you did not know that death might lay in wait for you. But one thing I knew for certain was that the Asgardians would rather their king wield a weapon of power, than their enemy. And you, no matter how close to their king, would always be their enemy. Sindri did the rest. You are saved, and the line of Bor is ended."

Loki felt madness spiralling out of a dark well in his mind. He had burned in visions. He had seen his wrecked red raw hands. He had seen the power of the Casket and, he realised with a shocked laugh: “I...thought it was the serpent. I thought the serpent...”

Loki looked up at Laufey to find that frown again. He knew that look. It was how one looked in the direction of a corner animal, wondering if the beast had been subdued or if it was just a matter of time before he lunged. Loki laughed. He was prisoner, and yet Laufey seemed to be in fear of something. “Did you know, there was a possibility I could have survived the Casket’s power? Not Thor. Not his precious Asgardian body. He was fated to die by the Casket.”

“Better him than you,” Laufey said. “You are the King of Asgard now. A prince of Jotunheim. Soon to be conqueror of Midgard. You will bring the Jotuns victory, new lands, new subjects. You will begin a new era of prosperity for our people.”

“And am I to do it from this cell?” Loki asked, holding up his wrist. “Shackled?”

“That is for your protection,” Laufey said,

“Protection. From what do you protect me?”

“Yourself,” Laufey said. “You have been... _tainted_ by Asgard, by that son of Odin. Before you can be a prince of this realm, and take your place as King of Asgard, your allegiance to your people, your _real_ people, must be secured.”

“You think I will turn on you,” Loki said, nodding. “How do you mean to secure my allegiance?”

Laufey’s gaze continued its careful assessment of Loki, “I would have your heart.”

_he has heart_

Poisoned gazes stared at him from the inside of his head. Poisoned by him. No... _him_. Another Loki. A poisoned Loki who poisoned the world around him. He took hearts and raised armies. Loki grinned, shaking his head, shaking off the scenes of chaos flipping through his mind. He laughed his way through the tremors and looked up at Laufey. “My heart. What if I have no heart?”

Laufey’s brow dented momentarily. “Then...your mind.”

“Ah, but what if I have no mind?” Loki grinned, a laugh trickling out of him. Laufey’s expression was confusion laced with just a little disgust, which only encouraged Loki’s laughter. He sat back against the wall and grinned at Laufey. When the silence built between them, Loki leaned forward slightly, speaking with a dead calm, “My heart has been shrinking since the moment you took me from Asgard as a boy. And my mind? My mind is no longer my own. So what will you take? This body? This body is nothing but a box containing a shrivelled heart and a broken mind. A carcass. _Enjoy_.”

Loki sat back and laughed, not without humour. He felt a manic glee in his chest, particularly at the look on Laufey’s face, a recognisable simmer of anger behind those eyes that despite their colour had not an ounce of warmth.

“Was there anything else?” Loki asked with a smile. “It’s just that I have a rather full day ahead of me. No? Good.”

Loki closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest it against the wall. He sighed and softly sang to himself, “ _Wind the thread tight, catch as I throw, one circle, two circle, now the magic flows.”_

Suspicious silence and a shift in temperature made Loki open his eyes to find Laufey kneeling before him, face close enough that their noses could have touched, causing Loki to gasp in surprise, before his mouth widened into a smile as he blinked into Laufey’s red eyes.

“What is it? What do you search for?” Loki whispered.

“Rage,” Laufey rumbled. “Where do you hide it? I know your rage, I have seen it. Where is it now?”

Loki pretended to think about it. “Rage? What is there to rage about? My gaoler consort is dead, the Casket is returned to Jotunheim, and while your armies are no doubt improving the aesthetics of Asgard, I am returned to my father’s home. There _is_ no rage. There is only rejoicing now. Don’t you think so, Father?”

Laufey’s jaw visibly clenched hard, and Loki was surprised he didn’t hear it crack and shatter. The Jotun swiftly stood up and took a step back. Disgust was now not just lacing his features, it was plastered across his face. He paced angrily, shaking his head, before he turned sharply to look at Loki, with such accusation that Loki couldn’t help but grin. He snarled and left the cell, the heavy door shutting behind him with a clunk clunk clunk _tick_.

“ _Wind the thread tight, catch as I throw_ ,” Loki murmured, “ _gather the dark, so the light cannot flow_.”

# ***

This wasn’t Loki’s first stint in a Jotun prison. He’d spent his youth raging against Laufey for small freedoms, until one day Laufey had dragged him from his room and thrown him into a Jotun cell, telling him that only a prisoner had the right to cry prison. Loki had spent days in the small square room. It was made of dark rock, with a single door. There was a slit in the wall near the ceiling, enough for a glimmer of light, or a flurry of snow. Laufey had wanted him to see a literal prison, Loki had instead counted the days, each one a mark against his gaoler.

Laufey returned him to his chamber, always the first to break their silences. “What think you now of this _prison?_ ”

“All of Jotunheim is a prison,” Loki had replied. Laufey looked so enraged Loki thought the Jotun might strike him, but he never did. His lip curled in disdain as he walked away.

Here they were again, reliving old moments. Laufey putting Loki in his place, and Loki fitting into that place exactly like a steely jagged cog into a rotting square wooden frame, pushing splinters into all directions, including under his own skin. He looked up to watch the door to his cell opening. A young Jotun walked in, lanky and sharp-boned, his eyes youthful and round. He was carrying a wooden tray, which he placed at Loki’s feet before walking away. It contained a plate of thick black bread, and a bowl of stewed meat, with a small cup of hot wine. Loki felt his stomach turn at the sight. He pushed the tray away with his foot, watching it skid back towards the Jotun, not a crumb shifting, or a drop spilled. Loki smirked at the Jotun, watching him pick up the tray with a scowl and leave room.

“ _Wind the thread tight, catch as I throw_. _Make magic with bread, and in wine let it flow,”_ Loki muttered. He frowned at the door. Where was the clunk clunk clunk and _tick?_ A moment later the heavy door was thrown open with some force, Laufey stalking in furiously, two Jotuns with him, and a long-robed Dwarf close behind. Loki smiled.

“What have you done with it?” Laufey growled, murderous rage writ across his face. “Where is it?”

“That depends on what _it_ is,” Loki said. Loki looked at the Jotuns accompanying Laufey. “Is something missing? I hope it’s nothing important. Not the Casket is it? Be a shame if you’ve already lost it.”

Laufey all but lunged at Loki, grabbing him at his chest and pulling him up off the floor as he glared down at Loki. “The Tesseract. What have you done with it?”

Loki eyed the room, gaze travelling from past Laufey’s left ear to his right. “You’re more than welcome to look through my things.”

Laufey was shaking with rage, Loki feeling the tremors as Laufey held him. “Understand this, boy, there is no place for mad Jotuns here. Ask yourself, where are the Jotuns who look like you? That speak in mad riddles as you? Why do you not see them? Where have they gone?”

“Is it the same place your queen went? I mean...you look nothing like me, so _this_ had to come from somewhere. Did _you_ send her there? Or... _oh_ , yes, now I see it. Is it the same place where you left me to die? Where I was found by the Asgardians? _Is it?_ ” Loki growled, shoving Laufey away from him. He looked at the others in the room, all watching him. He grinned in their direction, before looking at Laufey. “Your threats carry no weight here, Father. Do what you will.”

“Get out,” Laufey said, his voice pitched low and dangerous. When no one moved, he turned on his Jotuns and the Dwarf, roaring, “Leave!”

When the door shut, Laufey turned to look at Loki with naked contempt. He shook his head. “ _Asgardian_. You think this place beneath you? You think _me_ beneath you? You think the Jotuns are simple and not cunning as you, whilst you forget where you came from. This victory has taught you _nothing_. Look at me! _I_ toppled Asgard! It is _I_ who bring the Casket back to Jotunheim. _I_ cut down Odinson!”

“Luck was on your side,” Loki said tightly. “We came for help, and you helped yourself.”

Laufey’s eyes were wide with fury. “Luck? Luck has nothing to do with this! This was the fruits of a lifetime of labour. Frigga, she _begged_ me once, will I ever see my son again? She took my word that you would at the very least see her last rites. She asked me, will he ever come home? I said, perhaps. If that son of Bor were to step down from his throne of arrogance. I knew it then, she would fight for you, and through her, I could fight for Jotunheim. I would not allow her last wish to pass unless Odin bowed to my every demand. And he would bow. For her he would bow. It was then I upon the Dark Elves, giving them precious lands and weapons, for the death of one woman.”

Laufey’s sneer turned to a smile, whilst the muscles of Loki’s face had simply frozen. His dredged up smile felt like an ugly aching contortion. “You...you had her killed...”

“She died swift, with one strike,” Laufey said carefully, as if it mattered. “I waited then to see if Odin would come, with her last wishes. You should have seen him. Stricken with grief, his arrogance in pieces. Let us change, Laufey. Let us forge a better future. _This_...after his forefathers brought Jotunheim to the brink of destruction? Offering me peace because his dead queen wished it. The loves of the Jotuns are cheap, but not the last wishes of an Asgardian queen. I had a queen. What of her wishes to see this realm live again? I begged him once. Return our precious Casket and call it an end to all war. It is breath to our world. But no. Odin was _protecting_ all realms by making us poorer.”

Laufey growled, turning his back on Loki, breathing harshly with his hands fisted at his sides, whilst Loki stood frozen.

“Do you think Jotunheim has always been like this? It thrived once. There was beauty here. But the Asgardians fought us until all we had left was rubble. The world you were born into was not the world meant for you. Your mother...” Laufey stopped, his voice strained, unsteady.

“What?” Loki whispered.

“She lost her senses as you grew inside her. One day she was gone. I did not see her die. I did not see you born. And I lay the blame on them, those peace-mongerers.” Laufey turned towards Loki, surprising him with the new knowledge that Laufey’s eyes were capable of tears. “I decided, I would have no war with Asgard. I would take it apart a brick at a time. I would have a Jotun on the throne. But for that, Odinson would have to become king first. And for that-”

“You had Odin killed,” Loki said, his words hollow, the breath in his lungs thin. “You had him killed, and you had the Elves place the mark.”

Laufey was standing tall, broad shouldered, proud, jutting out his chin with defiance, eyes wet and shining. “Tell me, what part was played by luck?”

“I stand corrected.” Loki steadied himself, commanding watery limbs to become steel. “And I commend you. You have gone beyond the duty of a king.”

Laufey stared at him. “You mean this?”

Loki laughed, his mouth not quite working, eyes prickling. “I believe I do. From my heart.” Laufey stepped towards Loki, hand reaching out, his eyes filled with hope and expectation. “Loki-”

“Please,” Loki said, moving away, shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

Laufey stopped, hand dropping to his side, a dejected look on his face. How strange it was that Loki was beginning to see expression where once he had only seen stone. Loki swallowed, rubbing the tip of his finger into the corner of his eye.

“I don’t have the Tesseract,” he said roughly. “It was still in the rig when you took me through the portal.”

“The Dwarves say the cube they have recovered is not the Tesseract. It is almost depleted, and the Tesseract would not deplete so easily,” Laufey said, lacking anger now. Sounding almost disinterested.

Loki looked up at Laufey. “I imprisoned and wear this shackle. You took me from Asgard this way. The Dwarves were in the cavern before you, and Sindri the closest to the Tesseract before he perished. Ask yourself, out of those charged to build the rig and bring the Tesseract back to Jotunheim, who might want and be able to spirit it away? Find yourself the most capable Dwarf. He will either have the Tesseract, or lead you to it.”

“And if it still isn’t found?” Laufey asked.

“Then the Dwarves have betrayed you,” Loki said. “In their defence, if I had the Tesseract I would not let it go easily. I cannot think of anything that might equal its value.”

Laufey’s eyes stayed on Loki for a while, before he nodded. It seemed he might leave, but then he opened his mouth, looking momentarily lost for words. Frowning, he said, “I wish I had spoken to you sooner about the past. I made a grave error not doing so.”

Loki nodded. “For once, I am in agreement with you.”

“I hope perhaps a time will come when you call me father from your heart, and not your desire to hurt,” Laufey said. “Though I know that time may never come.”

“Anything is possible,” Loki said. He gave Laufey a nod, receiving one in return, watching Laufey walk out of the cell as if the weight of the universe was placed on his shoulders.

The door shut with its clunk clunk clunk tick and Loki let out a shuddering breath, turning into the wall and peering into its dark patterns where no reflection could settle. His hands were pressed against the stone, shaking, his breath too fast.

“The time will come sooner than you think, Father,” Loki whispered. “By my word it will come.”


	23. Chapter 23

As in all nightmares, Loki saw everything slowed down in painful clarity. The Casket closed and slipped from his hands, turning elegantly on its way down. Loki’s withered hands shook, curled like coloured branches. He took a single step forward, and it seemed to take an eternity for him to gain ground, before he slowly fell to his knees, where he teetered infinitely. Steve ran towards Loki, the way everyone ran in dreams, hindered by the hand of some great invisible force. They met each other on the ground where Steve caught him, easing him down, and it was like sinking into a syrupy ocean, taking forever to drown. Above Loki, snow flakes hung in the air, glistening like raindrops, falling slow and heavy. Loki peered down at his hands, the skin an angry red and a charred black. He looked up into Steve’s eyes, bright and blue, lashes casting long shadows of devastation. Loki’s body convulsed, stuck in time, muscles taut and stretched forever, until he was consumed entirely from a fire that spread inside him, taking less time than a quickened heartbeat.

Loki sat up with a gasp, body shaking as he slowly shifted to lean against the wall, the hardness a comfort against his back as his eyes searched the room before turning to his hands, unmarked and pale, untouched by burning. Loki swallowed, remembering Laufey’s words. It was the Casket’s power that had turned Thor to dust, and it was the same power that had burned through the Loki in his dreams. Loki glared at the room, at the empty bed he had refused to sleep on. His mind was overrun, either by the dreams of others, or the nightmares made in these last few days. His magic was trapped inside him, in the thumping ache of his head, in the too fast beat of his heart, in the tremors that ran through his limbs. Someone would have to pay for this all, Loki thought.

The door to his cell opened. Loki leaned back and waited. He had sent back six meals since he last saw Laufey. Three days of sitting in the shadows between the dim lighting, staring at the dark walls and ruminating over all that Laufey had said. Two Jotun guards walked in, waiting and keeping their distance. A robed figure walked in next, with another man in tow. The robed man pulled back his hood to reveal a pale face and pale blue eyes, his hair more white than yellow. He was looking down his sharp nose at Loki with suspicion, a jittery feel about him. Loki tilted his head and smiled at the Dwarf, moving his gaze to the man behind. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he had a rough growth of unkempt beard. In contrast to the Dwarf’s well-made robe, the man behind him was wearing a more functional jacket and trousers, black from his collar to his boots.

Laufey walked in last, taking a good long look at Loki. Loki silently met his gaze. The Jotun king paced for a while, before finally saying, “I grow weary of this, Loki.”

Loki frowned at him, keeping his thoughts to himself. Laufey had no idea how weary Loki could make him feel. He had eternity spread out in front of him to test the limits of the Frost Giant. Not that he needed eternity.

“The Tesseract is yet to be found,” Laufey said. “I am assured that no Dwarf laid a finger on the cube.”

“Well, you should believe the Dwarves then,” Loki said, before slowly adding, “the magic wielding Dwarves who could never think of what to do with a cosmic cube filled with...well, whatever it’s filled with. I’m sure they can figure it out.”

“Davin has proposed a method of finding the cube that would absolve you of any responsibility,” Laufey said, nodding towards the robed man who Loki presumed was the Davin in question.

“Has he now?” Loki asked, looking at Davin. “What’s he going to do? Rifle through his own pockets?”

“You accuse of me possessing the Tesseract?” Davin asked Loki, looking comically stunned.

“Yes.” Loki nodded. “Sorry, I thought I was being clear. Evidently not.”

“You do not remember him, do you?” Laufey asked, frowning at Loki.

Loki looked Davin up and down. There was something familiar about him, yes. Loki thought he had glimpsed Davin amongst the Dwarves who had entered the cavern on Asgard, right after Sindri had died opening them a portal.

“Not particularly,” Loki said. “Should I?”

“When you were clawing at yourself after having looked through the veil, Davin was the one who brought you some calm,” Laufey said, watching Loki closely. Loki didn’t remember, and he was glad for it, because now was not the time to feel his rage.

Loki looked at Davin instead and smiled. “What’s the matter? Didn’t get enough the first time? Felt like another grope of my mind?”

“No such thing,” Davin stammered. “I...I thought it the best way to confirm that you know nothing of the Tesseract’s whereabouts, sire.”

“How kind of you,” Loki said. “I shall of course remember this kindness until your dying day.”

Davin paled, turning to look at Laufey. The Jotun simply told him, “Do what you are here to do.”

Davin nodded, looking rattled. “Yes, my king.”

Laufey’s gaze turned to Loki as he asked, “Will it cause him pain?”

Loki laughed, grinning at Laufey. “It is your _fate,_ Father, to cause me suffering. Do what you will.”

Laufey turned his face away from Loki and nodded at Davin. Loki rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders, and waiting for Davin. To his dismay, Laufey’s two Jotun guards walked on ahead of Davin to hold Loki in place, taking an arm each in their too hard grips.

“I hardly think this is necessary,” Loki said with a grin.

“No?” Laufey asked, his tone rippling with barely suppressed impatience and anger. “Perhaps it is because you do not recall your mad ravings. The way you clawed at your own skin. You do not remember how Odinson had to be held back by his own men, when he thought you might perish from the pain in your mind. Maybe _that_ is why you think it is unnecessary.”

Loki stared at Laufey for a moment, before smiling. “No. I do not recall. But you do. And yet...here we are. Here _you_ are, sending this Dwarf into my head.”

Davin turned to look in Laufey’s direction. Laufey’s eyes went from Loki to Davin. “Do it. I have little patience left.”

Davin looked at Loki, swallowing and stepping close. “This will take but a moment.”

“How disappointing,” Loki said with a smile, watching Davin’s hand reach towards him.

Davin came closer when satisfied Loki could not break free of the Jotun guards. Loki grinned at him, stopping with a gasp when Davin’s hand touched the side of his face. It had felt as if someone had snatched him out of his own body, his mind weightless and disconnected. Loki found himself in the cavern, looking at the Tesseract. Not by choice, but by force, almost as if someone held his head in a grip. He felt the compulsion to retrace steps, to reach for the Tesseract.

He didn’t. He thought of Sindri and visualised him reaching for the Tesseract. He re-thought it over and over. He thought it until he felt a sensation of falling and a chill spreading quickly through his body, all his limbs feeling watery, arms unable to lift, legs unable to stand, and a rising feeling of nausea. Loki's knees buckled under him as soon as Davin broke their connection, leaving him hanging in the hold of the Jotun guards. They eased him to the floor, where he lay boneless and heavy, face pressed against ground from where he peered up at Davin to see a confused face.

"Well?" Laufey asked.

“Forgive me, my king...something is not quite right,” Davin said, before turning to the quiet man behind him. “Ivaldisson, check the tether, this cell too.”

Ivaldisson nodded, as Laufey scowled at the other Dwarf. “Davin?”

“I am unsure of what I have seen...perhaps we should speak in private. Ivaldisson, you have your orders.”

Laufey made a non-committal sound and left the chamber, eyeing Loki briefly as he left, his guards following, Davin in tow.

The door shut and Ivaldisson turned around, his hands remaining clasped behind his back as he tilted his head slightly to look at Loki. Loki moved sluggishly, somehow finding the energy to push himself into a sitting position, leaning against his wall. He peered at Ivaldisson through heavy-lidded eyes. The Dwarf was just standing there, watching him in silence, his pale blue eyes trained on Loki.

“I need to look at the tether,” Ivaldisson said calmly.

Loki grinned and held out his hand. “Why don’t you take it off and have a really close look?”

Ivaldisson tentatively approached Loki, crouching down before him, reaching for Loki’s wrist. Loki snatched it away at the last second, leaving Ivaldisson surprised, his pale blue eyes wide as they stared at Loki. Loki frowned, something about the Dwarf’s gaze sending up bubbles of intrigue from the depths of Loki’s mind. Loki brought his wrist back in front of the Dwarf.

“Go ahead, _Ivaldisson_ ,” Loki murmured, watching the Dwarf closely.

As soon as Ivaldisson touched the tether, Loki felt a strange buzzing through his body, warm and strange, but not painful. The magical tether sung with sweet recognition.

“This is of your making,” Loki said, as Ivaldisson ran his fingers over the surface of the tether. “The cell too, I think. A circle within a circle. No better way to contain magic. A room full of dark shadows, no better way to keep something hidden. A room without reflections, no escape. I like it. It’s thorough. I _am_ right, aren’t I? This is your work.”

Ivaldisson nodded, looking up at Loki. “Yes, sire,”

“Then why are you Davin’s lackey and not the other way around?” Loki asked.

Ivaldisson’s jaw twitched, but a smile of sorts followed. “I was born to a servant. He was not.”

“Pity,” Loki said. “His magic is not a touch on yours. He craves the Tesseract, but I fear he would not know what to do with it if he found it.”

Ivaldisson stood up, taking a small circular device from his pocket and watching it as he turned on the spot. “It is a powerful thing for sure.”

“You know of it.”

Ivaldisson stopped and nodded at Loki with an almost incredulous look on his face. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“What do you know?” Loki asked with an amused smile.

“Powerful, infinitely powerful perhaps. Laden with such properties that even the most powerful of mages might not understand them,” Ivaldisson said, something exciting glimmering in his eyes. “A cosmic cube, as you well know, sire, has inside it the power to re-write whole universes. You just have to find out how.”

“Would _you_ like to find out how?” Loki asked.

Ivaldisson grinned. “Sire, I would devote an entire life to finding out how.”

“Well, lucky for you, Davin will have the cube in his possession soon enough. I am sure he will call upon your skills to examine its properties," Loki said. 

Ivaldisson frowned, absently nodding. “Indeed, sire.”

“You seem unsure," Loki said. “I must be mistaken, of course. Davin who has entrusted you with such important work, I am sure will want you learn the secrets of the Tesseract.”

Ivaldisson looked away from Loki. “I am done here. I...I will tell my master.”

“You do that,” Loki said. “Tell your master.”

Ivaldisson headed to the door, looking preoccupied. As he knocked on it and waited, Loki said, “If I had the Tesseract...I'd gladly give it in exchange for my freedom.”

Ivaldisson stared at Loki for a moment, his eyes glowing as bright as any cosmic cube. He gave Loki a deferential bow of the head, and left swiftly as soon as the door opened for him. Loki let his head tip back to rest against the wall as he closed his eyes. The seeds were sown. Now all he needed was a little rain to fall, and the bud to sprout.

# ***

In his dreams, he walked around that cavern under Asgard over and over, blue ash misting the air. Outside, storm clouds gathered and thunder rumbled in the sky. Loki walked his circles inside circles, hearing the sound of his own footsteps echoing loud. Turn it back, he murmured, turn back time. How do I do it, how do I turn back time. Ash shifted, blue plumes of smoke that twisted and turned until they swept back into a tall figure burned blue by the touch of the Casket.

Loki stood before the figure, looking at its face, eyes fixed ahead, mouth slightly parted as if it might speak. Loki swallowed, whispering, “You made not even a sound. Who dies like this?”

The ashen god said nothing, and continued his staring. Loki reached out, tentative, as if this time his touch might be light enough to not disturb the ashes. He was wrong. His fingers had barely touched a cheek when all turned to dust.

Loki opened his eyes, staring straight ahead, and continued counting the passing moments since the death of the King of Asgard.

## ***

Davin growled with frustration and pulled his hand away from Loki. Loki was once again left hanging where two Jotun guards held him. He looked up at Davin, laughing quietly and scrunching up his face. “Ooh. Tickles.”

Davin was pale, worried. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to Ivaldisson who was standing to the side, watching his master carefully. When Ivaldisson said nothing, Davin yelled, “Do something!”

Ivaldisson looked at Loki and then at Davin. “I-”

“Make another tether! Put him in another cell! He is playing with my magic, and I cannot see into his mind as I should!” Davin said. “Find out why!”

“You have been deep in this subject’s mind before,” Ivaldisson told Davin. “Establishing a connection again and again will only become harder. Perhaps you should charge another-”

Davin slapped Ivaldisson across the face. “You would take my place? You would be the master?”

Ivaldisson said nothing, face turned to the side, hand pressed to the corner of his mouth. Loki laughed, quiet and low, the sound echoing in the chamber. He couldn’t help but murmur, “Apply enough pressure to anything and it will break.”

Davin stared at Loki, fear sparkling in his eyes, becoming brighter when the door opened and Laufey walked in. He eyed Loki where he was being held upright by the Jotun guards.

“Davin?” Laufey asked, his voice a low growl.

Davin opened his mouth and stammered, “I...I...”

Laufey looked at Ivaldisson who had removed his hand from his face to reveal a smear of blood from a cut on his lip. He looked back at Davin and said, “Have you found anything, or not?”

Davin shook his head, evading Laufey’s gaze. “I will...find another smith. His mind is able to resist my attempts-”

“You. Do it. _Now_ ,” Laufey said, glaring at Ivaldisson. Ivaldisson looked as shocked as Davin. Davin opened his mouth to object, only to be cut off by Laufey’s asking, “He is your apprentice, is he not? He has created the wards in this cell to your specifications, has he not? He has created the tether. Has he not?”

Davin swallowed. “My king-”

“Go,” Laufey said. “When your apprentice fails as you have, you will be expected to explain yourself. Take this time to fabricate your excuses.”

Davin left with his tail between his legs, a flush high on his cheeks, but not before casting Ivaldisson a poisonous look.

Laufey looked at Ivaldisson. “I want more than what your master has given me.”

“His master has fed you lies,” Loki said. “This is...the house of lies.”

“Then tell the truth!” Laufey roared at Loki.

“The truth?” Loki growled. “What would a monster like you do with the truth?”

Laufey glared at Loki before giving Ivaldisson a single nod. Ivaldisson turned from Laufey to look at Loki. Reluctance was painted across his whole body, the way it moved slowly, the soft inward curl of his fingers, and the tentative expression on his face. He crouched down before Loki and looked him in the eyes.

“Forgive me, sire,” he said. “I do not how much pain this will cause you.”

Loki smiled at him, his eyes flicking to Laufey as he said, “Unimaginable.”

Ivaldisson nodded and brought up his hand, before placing his palm flush against Loki’s forehead. It was unlike Davin’s attempt almost immediately. A searing pain went through the centre of his mind, and for a moment all he could hear was his own screaming. There was fire everywhere, all around him. It had started a small flame, and then risen up high, to the size of a mountain, engulfing everything it touched.

Loki opened his eyes, turning swift on the spot where he stood, staring into himself to find the source and meaning of the fire he had just seen. But he was distracted, realising he was back in that cavern. His feet were tugging him in the direction of the Tesseract, his memories urging him to remember right. But Loki’s attention was drawn elsewhere. It was drawn toward the figure at the altar, standing absolutely still. Loki swallowed, shaking his head.

“Enough,” he breathed, bringing his hands up to cover his face. He was sick of this memory. He would erase it if he could.

When he brought his hands back down, Thor’s burnt husk was before him, leaning over him, somehow moving closer, and Loki was on the ground, trying to scramble backwards, a yell stuck in his throat, which erupted in a strangled sound when Thor turned to dust that fell all over Loki.

Loki looked up and it was Ivaldisson who stood over him, confusion etched across his face. “This...this is not a real memory. You are creating horrors for yourself, so I cannot penetrate anything real.”

Loki pushed himself up onto his feet, uncoordinated and heavy, glaring at Ivaldisson, backing away from the Dwarf. “You want something real? Have something real.”

A scream pierced the quiet of the cavern. They both turned to see Sindri, clutching at his chest, before a portal ripped out of him, sending him crashing to the ground, his chest smoking and charred, his eyes and mouth left wide open in shock. Dwarves began to step into the cavern, and Loki watched as Ivaldisson’s gaze was drawn to the first one, to the part of his face visible under the hood. Davin’s face.

Loki felt himself flying backwards, rushing at a breathtaking speed, carried by the momentum of something that felt like anger and disbelief. When he stopped it was with a jarring thud against something hard and stony, and Loki’s arms were stretched tightly above him, his wrists caught in manacles. He frowned at the feeling in his face, as if half of his mouth was paralysed, unable to move. The blur of his eyes cleared to reveal a very different, but familiar cavern. A circular cavern lined with mirrors, and with red soil on the ground.

_What is this place?_

Loki blinked tears out of his eyes. He was in agony. Rivers of pain were running through his muscles. His mind felt clouded and heavy, pain throbbing in his skull.

“Stop,” Loki managed to gasp. “Stop this.”

_A circle within a circle. Mirror magic. Too many reflections._

“Stop!” Loki growled, his jaw feeling tight, too tight to let him scream. But scream he did, hearing every mirror around him smashing one by one.

Lights were flashing before his eyes, and Loki could smell and taste blood. He was falling, and it felt like an eternity before he hit the floor, his body thrashing against the ground, muscles going tight and rigid, the warmth of blood running from his nose down his face. As his body seized painfully, his jaw clenched tight, Loki thought he saw an ashen figure bend over him and turn to mist again.

## ***

_Loki. Loki? LOKI!_

Loki jerked awake at the sound of Thor’s voice echoing in the chambers of his mind. Loki was in his cell, still by his spot by the wall. Only, someone had covered him with a blanket, and slipped a pillow under his head. Loki shoved aside the blanket and slowly sat up, though it was a struggle until he was upright and leaning against the wall. Before him sat Ivaldisson, cross-legged and miserable. Loki sniffed, catching a whiff of metal, touching the spot under his nose, finding flecks of blood. He messily rubbed them away, eyeing Ivaldisson, who was now sporting a black eye along with his cut lip. The reward of failure no doubt.

“Laufey commanded I stay here,” Ivaldisson said flatly. “And pray that you wake up.”

“Yes,” Loki said, his voice rusty. “My father does worry for me.”

“He should,” Ivaldisson said. Loki arched a brow. “Your mind...is filled with nightmares. And not all of them are yours.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Loki asked.

“I found what you wanted me to find,” Ivaldisson said. He swallowed, looking away and blinking hard. Loki frowned, waiting for more. “Is it what you showed Davin?”

“I showed him how Sindri craved the Tesseract. I showed him the possibility of Sindri taking it,” Loki said. “If he has taken that to mean a memory, that is his mistake.”

“No one will believe Sindri took the Tesseract. Sindri coveted nothing,” Ivaldisson said. “My cousin wanted only to work. He was tricked to his death.”

Loki nodded slowly, letting the new information sink in. “Yes. Yes, he was. He was as surprised as the rest of us by what happened to him.”

“And you know where the Tesseract is,” Ivaldisson said, staring at Loki with pink-tinged eyes.

“Perhaps,” Loki said with a shrug. “Perhaps not.”

“What would you do with it?” Ivaldisson asked. “You cannot even use your own magic in here.”

Loki leaned forward, blinking his bruised eyes slowly as he tilted his head at Ivaldisson. “Buy my freedom, of course. Do think I might find a buyer in here?”

“You would give up something so precious?” Ivaldisson asked.

Loki laughed. “I’d promise you my head if it got me out of here.”

Ivaldisson swallowed tightly, before he said, “If I help you-”

“It’s yours,” Loki said. “Do with it as you will.”

Ivaldisson was frowning, trying to read Loki with open desperation. “How am I to know you will not betray me?”

“I swear,” Loki whispered, hope fiercely growing inside him. Ivaldisson’s eyes seemed to shimmer with a golden glow. He reached out and gripped Loki’s arm. Loki’s tether buzzed warm and where Ivaldisson held Loki’s arm, he felt a burning sensation that went skin deep. When Ivaldisson pulled away, there was a mark on the inside of Loki’s arm, a serpent that chased its own tail.

“A pact has been made,” Ivaldisson said, nodding to the mark. “Do you accept it?”

“Most heartily.” Loki held up a fist, showing Ivaldisson the tether. “Get this thing off me.”

“The key is in my workshop,” Ivaldisson said. “Until then, will this suffice?”

The Dwarf reached inside his jacket and pulled out a short blade with a metal handle covered in runes. Loki stared at it and grinned. “You Dwarves do make the prettiest things.”

Ivaldisson climbed to his feet and held out a hand. Loki eyed it before accepting and being pulled up to stand before Ivaldisson, who seemed unsurprised when Loki placed the blade at his throat. “If this is a ploy just to get the Tesseract, I’ll have your head, Son of Ivaldi. I _swear_.”

“You keep your part of the pact,” Ivaldisson said, arching a brow at the blade. “And we can both keep our heads.”

Stepping back, Loki offered Ivaldisson a bright smile. “Well...what are we waiting for then?”


	24. Chapter 24

The first casualties were the Jotun guards outside Loki’s cell, who came rushing in at Ivaldisson’s cries for help. They didn’t expect the Dwarf to use both magic and blade to cut one down, whilst Loki rushed past Ivaldisson to drive his blade into the second guard’s throat. Loki didn’t stop to wipe clean the blood spurted across half his face, rushing out of the cell and down the corridor. They stalked past other prison cells, hidden under the magic of Ivaldisson, disappearing into shadows, re-appearing as Jotuns. Loki looked at each of the cells, the eyes peering through bars. He stopped for a moment, just looking at a cell door.

“What is it?” Ivaldisson asked.

“Set all the prisoners free,” Loki said. “It’ll give the Jotuns something to do. Look for the Asgardians amongst them. Lady Sif and the Warriors. Find them, and open a portal to Asgard. Send them through it. Make sure they’re armed. There will be Jotuns waiting.”

Ivaldisson nodded. “You should keep to the shadows. I cannot conceal you at a distance.”

Loki was already moving, opening cell doors and directing prisoners to their freedom. A horn began to blare, calling Jotun guards to attention. Loki proceeded to run upwards, away from the dungeons and into the main palace. Without Ivaldisson’s magic to cover him, he used dark corners, slipped behind open doors, and attacked from behind, leaving a line of bodies in his wake. He thought he was caught when a hand grabbed him by his shoulder hard, and pulled him into an alcove. Loki lifted his blade to strike, stopping on seeing Ivaldisson’s face, the Dwarf motioning Loki to stay silent. He tilted his head in the direction of a corridor, and Loki followed, back under Ivaldisson’s umbrella of illusion, all the way to his cramped workshop filled with benches that were loaded with tools and parchment, a small fire glowing in the corner.

“We must be quick,” Ivaldisson said, looking at the fire. “Someone is bound to return. The illusion I cast in your cell will also have been discovered by now. I am sure, we are both being sought after.”

Ivaldisson breathlessly rifled through a mess on one of the many workspaces. Loki moved slowly around the room, watching Ivaldisson with unease, the way sweat was glistening on his face from the nearby fire, bringing up copper tones in his dark hair. He rolled his sleeves up sinewy arms, turning over objects and parchments on the table before him. Loki looked at him, and then looked at the spot of their pact on his own arm, hidden away under his sleeve.

“I have it,” Ivaldisson said, turning around with a small golden rectangle object in his hand.

He stepped close to Loki, touched the rectangular device to the tether on Loki’s wrist and pressed on its side. The tether crackled blue and and fell away. Loki felt as if a gust of cold wind had blown right through him, leaving all his nerves sharp and fresh. He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers, making a fist. Magic was flowing again. Loki whipped out his hand, from fist to open, a dagger appearing in his hand, glistening with sharp intent. Ivaldisson was watching Loki closely, and when their eyes met, the Dwarf straightened up, his chin jutting out in a challenging manner. Loki smiled at him, watching Ivaldisson’s eyes travelling along the edges of Loki’s blades. Did the mark on his arm prickle though, or was it just imagined?

“What-” Loki and Ivaldisson both turned to find Davin in the doorway of the workshop, with company.

Loki didn’t wait to hear the rest. His dagger had already met its mark, striking one of the Dwarves behind Davin’s left shoulder. Davin yelled and fell to the floor, exposing the second Dwarf behind him who made an attempt to strike Loki. Loki slid across the floor, sending a wave of energy that threw an assortment of objects at his opponent. In the confusion, the Dwarf didn’t see Loki split into illusion, his eyes on a shadow, whilst Loki slipped behind him and ran him through with his blade.

“Nothing personal,” Loki whispered in his ear. He frowned, thinking about the statement. “Well, perhaps a little personal.” Loki pulled the blade out, and shoved the Dwarf to the floor, before moving to stand in front of Davin, giving him a bright smile. “Hello.”

“Please...please, I beg of you. I...I only did as I was told. I have no quarrel with you,” Davin stammered, stuck between Loki and a wooden work bench. “Your king! Your king, Odinson, he was desperate. He could not see you suffer. I did as he asked.”

“And who sent you to the king?” Loki asked calmly. Davin looked even more afraid. Loki smiled at him. “I want to hear you say it. Might even spare your life.”

“Laufey,” Davin blurted out. “Laufey. Odinson sent for him when you were unwell. He told Odinson the Svartalfar could ease your suffering.”

Loki gave the Dwarf a tight smile before moving away and turning to Ivaldisson. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”

Ivaldisson was glaring daggers at Davin. Very quietly, he asked, “What quarrel did you have with Sindri?”

Davin shook his head, frustrated. Loki prompted him: “Answer the man.”

“We needed a portal,” Davin said.

“There are ways to make portals without killing someone,” Ivaldisson said.

“Ways that would have been detected by the Asgardians,” Davin snapped.

Ivaldisson shook his head. “You lie.”

“I will not explain myself to the likes of you!” Davin spat. “You think your magic so golden! You are a nobody! _Ivaldisson._ ”

“This is about envy?” Ivaldisson asked. “You sent my cousin to his death because you were envious?”

“Enough talk,” Loki said, grabbing Davin by his hair and slicing his blade swiftly across the Dwarf’s throat, slashing it open in the one move. He let go of the Dwarf, and watched him fall to the ground where he lay spasming, his hands trying to stem the bleeding from his gaping wound. Ivaldisson kept his gaze locked on the Dwarf right until the light in his eyes faded, leaving them misted windows into nothingness.

Loki looked at the blade in his hand, the unbloodied part of the metal showing him a bloodied reflection. “Did you find the Asgardians?”

Ivaldisson was still looking at Davin as he nodded absently. “Yes”

“Where are they?” Loki asked.

“I did as you asked,” Ivaldisson said. “They armed themselves with Jotun weapons, and I sent them through a portal. To Asgard.”

Loki nodded. “Good. They can enjoy their brief freedom before the Jotuns do away them.”

“Why save them then?” Ivaldisson asked, looking shaken and flushed. “Why not leave them where they were?”

Loki clenched his jaw, glaring at Ivaldisson. “They should die where their king did.”

Ivaldisson frowned at Loki. “I do not understand you. Is this out of love for your king, or out of hate?”

“Both. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” Loki asked cuttingly. He held up the blade in his hand. “Now if you don’t mind, things to do.”

The palace was in chaos, Jotun guards fighting prisoners, the deep sound of a horn blaring above them. Loki ignored it all, moving forward with single-minded focus. He and Ivaldisson faced Jotun guards every step of the way, both of them using blades and magic to gain ground. Odin would have been proud, Loki thought somewhat bitterly as he twisted about and threw a blade straight into a Jotun throat. Another Jotun jumped from the shadows, but Loki fought with abandon, lashing out in all directions. As he ducked blows and attempts to be brought down, he swung his hand back, his dagger catching flesh, and thrust his other dagger forward, striking bone. He slashed and stabbed, kicked and snarled. In a moment of stillness he stood in the middle of a corridor to find it filled with dead Jotuns. He glanced at Ivaldisson who stood close by, blood-splattered, a stunned look about him as he stared a dagger in his hand.

“You need not follow me from here,” Loki said, moving towards the grand entrance of the royal chambers.

Ivaldisson looked at Loki and said, “We have a pact.”

Loki held up his hand, watching Ivaldisson’s eyes widen, his body still, as he saw the Tesseract perched in Loki’s palm. Loki held out the cube. “For services rendered. Our business is now complete.”

Ivaldisson frowned at Loki, stunned. He watched with suspicion as he reached for the Tesseract, taking it carefully into both his hands. “You...you are really giving me the Tesseract?”

Loki looked at the cube, murmuring, “It would seem so.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ivaldisson said, moving forward.

“On of pain of death,” Loki said, poking the point of his dagger against Ivaldisson’s chest. “This is not your concern, Son of Ivaldi.”

Loki turned and took only a step when Ivalidsson stopped him with the words, “Brokkyr. My name...my name is Brokkyr. Ivaldi...was not my father. He was my master. He taught me much.”

“Brokkyr,” Loki said as he slowly turned around to look at the Dwarf, unable to stop the smile that spread on his face. The Fates, he thought, were more villainous than any flesh and blood being.

“Do you know that name, sire?” Ivaldisson asked, knowing full well the answer to his question.

“Should I?” Loki asked, feeling a press of lips against his, the tingle of their magical promise embedded in his skin.

“I saw in your memories,” Ivaldisson said, nodding to Loki’s wrist. “I saw you come to me...a different me. I was helping you. I mean... _he_ was helping another you. It seemed to me that our paths were fated to cross.”

“Which is why you helped me?”

Ivaldisson looked at the Tesseract held dearly in his hands. “Perhaps it is why I believed you.”

Loki let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re a fool then.”

“A fool with a Tesseract,” Ivaldisson said.

“Wise men have too much fear for such things,” Loki said, looking into the brightness of the cube. It had chaos written all over it. Almost as much had been written into the lines of his hands. “I suspect you are reckless enough to blow yourself up learning its secrets. Fair thee well, _Brokkyr_.”

Loki turned his back on the Dwarf and moved through the doors of Laufey’s chamber. It was empty and dark inside, cavernous of course for a Frost Giant king. Moonbeams were filtering into the long room, casting light between the shadows and all the pillars that held up the high ceiling of the chamber. There in the distance was the king atop his throne, leaning to one side, his precious Casket next to him on a plinth. He watched Loki approach in silence, straightening up as Loki neared, his eyes on the blood spatters decorating Loki’s face, hands, and clothes.

“Are you proud of the Jotun blood you have spilled?” Laufey asked, his voice so low it seemed to scrape across the ground, and beckon Loki close. “The blood of your brothers.”

“I had only one brother,” Loki said quietly, sure he could still smell ash about him. “You took him from me a long time ago.”

Laufey stood up, heavily climbing down the stone steps from his throne, his eyes locked on Loki. “Such mourning for Odinson, and such _contempt_ for your own.”

“None here are my own,” Loki said.

Laufey stopped before Loki. “And yet here you are before me, wanting for something.”

Loki stared at Laufey, metal itching in his hand, magic drawing a dagger forth. Laufey tilted his head in the direction of Loki’s hand, and smiled, before kneeling down on the ground.

“You have come for blood,” Laufey said with a bitter but victorious smile. “So take it.”

Loki felt his body shaking, rage running through his veins. Laufey’s mouth shifted into a grin, and then a laugh. Loki growled, raging as he ran forward, dagger raised to strike, before his feet stopped short of the Jotun, and his weapon failed to hit its target. Loki stared at the Jotun king as he breathed hard, his vision blurring. Growling, he turned his back on Laufey, looking at the dagger in his hand.

“Surely you do not lack the courage to do this,” Laufey said.

Loki angled his head towards Laufey’s voice, keeping to himself visions of having killed Laufey in cold blood. _This_ was different. This needed to be different. Loki turned around fully, glaring at Laufey. “Fight.”

Laufey sneered. “I will not fight you.”

Loki lunged forwarded and slashed the tip of his blade across Laufey’s cheek, causing him to lose his balance and topple backwards. “Fight!”

Laufey shook his head slowly and smiled. “No.”

Loki grinned at him. “Then die knowing I will lay waste to what is left of your kingdom. You think Jotunheim looks like a ruin now? It is a paradise compared to what I’ll do.”

Laufey sprang towards Loki with an outraged growl, grabbing him by the front of his coat and bodily smashing him up against a pillar, eyes bright with fury. “You... _you_ are my ruin. I curse the day your mother bore you.”

“I had one mother,” Loki whispered harshly. “Her name was Frigga.”

Laufey roared and raised his free hand, an icy blade forming around it. Loki chose this moment to thrust his blade forward once, straight into Laufey’s chest. Laufey’s body jerked with shock, ice receding to show his hand again, fingers rigid as his arm slowly fell to his side.

“For my mother,” Loki whispered, watching Laufey closely. He twisted the blade hard, hearing a gurgling protest deep in Laufey’s throat. “For my brother. Goodbye. _Father_.”

Laufey shuddered against Loki before the life ebbed out of him and his eyes drifted shut, his heavy body pulling Loki along as he fell to the ground. Loki parted from the body of Laufey, stumbling backwards, looking at his dagger protruding from Laufey’s chest. Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Everyone that mattered, it seemed was now gone. Loki turned from the fallen king, only to see a sword belonging to a helmeted and heavily armoured creature go right through him. He gasped, coughed and froze. His silent attacker pulled his blade back out and Loki fell to his knees in shock, before falling to the ground on his side.

Loki watched through a haze of pain as his attacker moved towards Laufey. He looked down at the dead Jotun for a moment before stepping over the corpse to walk up the steps towards the throne. He stopped before the Casket, taking it in both his hands and gazing at it. Once he had stopped admiring it, he swiftly returned down the steps, over the bodies on the floor. Glancing briefly at Loki, he left the chambers as quietly as he had entered, the Casket leaving with him. Loki turned onto his back, blinking back involuntary tears as he laughed through the pain. A fitting death he thought, having slain many, and avenged few.

Loki lay on the ground feeling life slipping away with every difficult breath. The palace ceiling spun above him, or perhaps it was his mind that spun inside his head. His heart was skittering inside his chest, too fast and light. Cold was descending quickly across his body, as sweat stung his skin at the same time. Fire flashed across his eyes. It seemed to roar. Could fire roar? Could ice become a wolf, or a snake? Could ice burn? He had burned. He was burning now.

_Loki_

Loki blinked, frowning. He thought he saw an ashen figure above him, his eyes turning blue, and his hair yellow. Thunder crackled around him. But when Loki blinked, the God of Thunder was gone, and a dark figure stood over him, watching him silently. There was something bright in his hands, thrumming with power. Loki frowned when he realised it was the Casket, and it was held by Ivaldisson. Loki laughed, though it hurt to do so.

“The Tesseract... _and_ the Casket?” Loki managed with a painful laugh.

Ivaldisson crouched down by Loki, his hand feeling heavy on Loki’s shoulder. “I saw a Dark Elf leaving the chamber with the Casket. I could not let him have something so powerful.”

“Why are you here?” Loki asked, something heavy in his lungs, taking the place of air.

“I had to come back,” Ivaldisson said quietly, his eyes on the fatal wound.

Loki grabbed Ivaldisson by the front of his coat, though his arm shook weakly. “You and I are not friends, Brokkyr. _Never_ friends. Take what you have and leave.”

Ivaldisson looked away, casting an eye at the Casket next to him. He looked back and said, “What can I do? There must be something.”

Loki let his head fall back with a groan. He blinked the descending shadows from his eyes, breathing through the pain. Swallowing, he looked at Ivaldisson and nodded. “One thing.”

# ***

When Loki found himself in one of the shining halls of Asgard, he suspected Fate had a hand in this too as in all things.The man whose reflection he had chased back to Asgard had come to a sudden stop, as if sensing Loki's arrival. He turned around and spotted Loki, breaking into a run. It was with relief that Loki slid down the shining wall from through which Ivaldisson had sent him. Steve fell to his knees before Loki, steadying him so he could sit leaning against the wall. Steve was staring at the blood stains that covered Loki's clothes and skin. The plates of his metal arm whirred and shifted.

“What happened to you?" Steve asked, his hand finally settling on Loki's shoulder. "We got here and the Frost Giants had everyone under guard."

Loki looked around the corridor, hearing the sounds of battle in the distance. He swallowed, his mouth dry, words finding no traction. “They killed Thor.”

Steve stilled. “I'm...I'm sorry."

"It was not your doing," Loki said, black creeping into the edges of his vision fast.

"The Avengers are here," Steve said. "They'll make sure your people are safe...I'll make sure.”

"My people." Loki murmured. “That’s right. I forgot. I am the King of Asgard now.”

"Loki?" Steve said, squeezing his shoulder as Loki felt the last of his strength ebb from his body. He fell away from the wall, the pull of the ground too strong to resist. Steve caught him, Loki's face pressed against his shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

Steve shifted him gently, until Loki was lying back. He opened his eyes and blinked upwards, frowning when he saw a sky instead of a high ceiling. It seemed thunderous, and all the blue that should have been there was in Steve’s eyes, framed by lashes that made Loki think of a shining star. Snow would fall soon, he thought.

“Steven,” Loki murmured, the name a pleasure all of its own, bringing the slightest smile to Loki’s mouth. This was no terrible way to die, he thought. In fact, it was the death of his dreams, wasn’t it? He let his eyes drift shut, his body limp.

“Loki,” Steve whispered, sending him towards the gates of Valhalla.

Darkness came first, wrapping itself around Loki in a velvet embrace.

Then came silence, in which there wasn’t even the beat of his heart, or the sound of his breath.

Then came nothing. An eternal nothing. Formless and deep.

_Loki. I thought the world of you once. I thought we were going to fight side by side._

Something cracked and splintered loud.

_Your birthright was to die as a child! Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in you would not be here now to hate me._

Something shattered, falling to pieces.

_You should know that when we fought each other in the past, I did so with the glimmer of hope that my brother was still in there somewhere. That hope no longer exists to protect you. You betray me and I will kill you._

Someone roared like thunder.

_I will not fight you, Brother!_

Loki opened his eyes finding himself in the safety of his brother's bedchamber where they built a fort of bedlinen and feasted on apples while Thor spoke of defeating monsters and smashing Jotunheim into stardust.

“Don't worry,” he whispered inside their fort. “I will not let them take you, Brother.”

Loki considered Thor's promise unlike anything he had ever given a moment's thought. Thor was All-Father's son, his real son, everyone said so. He would be king and he was the only one who mattered.

The one Loki would need. Imploring Thor with his eyes, he said, “Do you promise?”

Thor nodded vigorously, scowling as he did so, taking the oath most seriously. “I promise.”

Thunder struck and glass shattered all around Loki. He gasped long and deep, coughing and letting out a strangled sound. He frowned when he realised he couldn’t move, looking up to find his wrists shackled, their chains on an iron hook in a rock that was against Loki’s back and curving all the way over him. One of his wrists was bloody, the manacle having dug in deep, the pain of it reaching all the way down into his shoulder and his chest. Loki barely had time to think of how to free himself when something hit the hook, silver and lightning fast, destroying a portion of the chain that was keeping Loki in place, and flying back.

Loki fell to the ground hard, the impact sending waves of pain in every direction. When he slowly turned over, he caught his reflection in the scattered pieces of a broken mirror. Loki stared at it in shock, touching his lips with shaking fingers over the half sewn part of his mouth, blood having clotted where the needle had pierced him. His fingers moved past the corner of his mouth to his cheek, where two more stitches had been made, the thread obscenely hanging from one of them. A shuddering sound, a twisted growl, somehow made it past his lips as he grimaced at his reflection.

“Loki?”

Another frustrated sound left him. He turned towards the voice, shaking his head as he looked at Thor who stood over him, his red cape flowing off him, his yellow hair damp around his face, eyes bluer than Loki could ever remember, and Mjölnir in his firm grip. Loki’s eyes darted about his surroundings, taking in a quick inventory of the round cavern lined with broken mirrors, the rune-filled circle in the middle of the cavern where Loki had hung from the stone, the red soil that Loki’s fingers were curling into where he sat.

“I saw you die,” Loki said, looking at Thor with sore eyes.

“Loki,” Thor said softly as the ground rumbled ominously under them. He held out his hand. “We cannot stay here.”

Loki eyed the outstretched hand, his mind frantically trying to fill in blanks. “You're not him. Who are you? Why can't I remember anything?”

“You will,” Thor said. “It will all come back.”

Loki locked eyes with Thor. “Tell me.”

The ground shook hard, cracks opening up in the walls of the cavern. “Loki, there’s no time for this.”

“Then make it quick,” Loki said, his mind fixated on the pull of the thread, the way words stuck in his mouth,

"This is Brokkyr's doing." Thor’s jaw twitched as he lost his footing with the next shake of the cavern. “He put you in here. He's on Midgard and he has the Tesseract. The Chitauri are moving to invade Midgard. We have to go.”

Loki stared at Thor wordlessly, the name Brokkyr spiralling through his mind. He reached out and accepted the outstretched hand, letting Thor pull him up. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, Thor’s eyes soft with worry as he carefully wrapped an arm around Loki’s waist. He nodded at Loki, holding his hammer aloft and calling for a bridge home.


	25. Chapter 25

The moment Loki and Thor stepped into the Bifrost, Loki’s legs gave way. Numbness was washing over him, shivers beginning to course through his body. The only warmth he felt was the heat of his bleeding wounds, blood oozing down and pooling between his lips, leaking down his chin. The shock of awaking in the cavern, of seeing his butchered mouth, seeing Thor full of life with his sun drenched hair, it was all beginning to wear off fast, as was the magic of the cavern. One foot on Asgard, and his body felt as if it was shutting down, the breath in his lungs thinning, limbs sapped of energy, panic skittering inside his heart as darkness encroached.

“Loki. _Loki._ ” Thor pulled him closer as Loki peered at him through blurring vision, head lolling to the side.

“I saw you coming,” he heard Heimdall tell Thor, the sound of his voice a watery wobble. “They’re waiting in the healing chamber.”

Thor called to him as he surfaced and sank on his way to the healing chamber. Loki awoke to see Thor peering closely at him, somehow managing to tenderly hold Loki’s face in his hands, insisting him into wakefulness. When Loki managed some focus through his fevered state, Thor smiled, relief smoothing away all the worry lines on his face.

“Loki,” he said, almost soundlessly. Relief washed away into something determined and stubborn. “Hold on. I will return. Be here when I do.”

Thor turned to leave, stopping at the tug on his cloak. He turned around, his forehead dented with confusion and then with something soft. He had caught sight of Loki’s fingers, stiff and bloodied, somehow having found the energy to hold on. Loki swallowed, shaking his head at Thor. If he was to die, he wanted Thor by his side. The cloak fell away from Loki’s fingers as he gasped at the feeling of something tightening his throat, twisting his limbs from within. Thor’s eyes widened and turned towards Loki, only for Frigga to step between them.

“He will be here when you return,” she told him. “Go. Do what you must.”

Thor was gone and it was becoming a struggle to stay in both the light or the dark. In the dark his heart beat fast and forced him awake into panic. In the light he had to endure the feel of hands on him, pulling apart his clothes, laying on bandages, and finally holding him down as he screamed at the beginning of the thread’s removal.

Someone frantically said, “The salve isn’t working. Shall I stop?”

“No,” Frigga said sternly. “It mustn’t stay in him a moment longer.”

A hand gently pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t turn to look, seeing only bright glowing halos where light was obscured by tears, but he heard his mother’s voice in his ear. “Loki, there is poison spreading through you, through this thread. The thread must be removed fast. There is nothing to stop the pain it will cause you. So, you know what you must do. Don’t you?”

Loki swallowed, blindly nodding before he closed his eyes and dove into darkness. There were no mirrors in the mind, no reflections to catch to another place. But there were dreams and memories, which became foreign universes in themselves. He tried to find a place to hide, somewhere deep below the pain of his body. However, something was grabbing his mind by the scruff of its neck and dragging him away, shoving him onto the red soil of a mirror-lined cavern. In the centre of the cavern was a circle. In the circle were runes etched into the ground, atop which stood a large black rock that curved at the top. At the top was a hook at which Loki couldn’t stop staring.

“Loki?” he heard Frigga’s voice echo around his head. Loki felt a sharp piercing pain, followed by the taste of blood filling his mouth. He doubled over, clamping his shaking hand over his mouth. “Loki, _think_. Of a safe place. Somewhere far from here.”

“ _I have seen glimpses of other realities. Seen myself in them, always an agent of a chaos. Why should this reality be any different? What's so special about this place?”_

“ _You are. You put yourself on the line, saved two worlds. You made the ultimate sacrifice. That counts for something.”_

“ _Does it? I wonder if all that chaos has been purged from my body in the beast's attempt to incinerate me. My trial by fire, the memories of which I must bear with utmost clarity. It makes me wonder if this is some kind of punishment. Isn't that strange? That surviving should feel like a punishment?”_

“ _Having to carry on can feel that way sometimes. But that's what you do. You find the strength – stand up – you always stand up.”_

Loki shakily straightened up, the cavern tilting as he did. He peered at the mirrors on the walls. Their reflections were fixed and impenetrable. Behind them, the cavern was spinning around and around, the mirrors staying where they were. They all showed him another Loki, something fearful in his eyes, his hair yellow, his composure brittle. He was being dragged towards the imposter, every mirror in the cavern taking a piece of him somehow, trying to envelope him, consume him. To

“ _That's what you do. You find the strength – stand up – you always stand up.”_

A mirror crackled with lightning blue. Loki saw the raising of Mjolnir and stumbled, clutching his aching wrist to his chest, only to feel that dark pull again, but this time harsh and abrupt, causing him and everything around him to stop. Loki stared into the pale blue eyes of the man holding his face by his chin with bloodied fingers. Brokkyr leaned in close enough for Loki to see madness dancing in his eyes. “Where’s that silver tongue now?”

Loki blinked at Brokkyr, hot tears filling his eyes, brought on by pain. Brokkyr held up a bloody gold needle, for Loki to see before its point penetrated his skin again. He could feel the thread pulling at his lips, cutting into flesh, dark magic seeping into his blood, his soul, into his mind. Thunder rolled through the cavern. Loki saw Thor smashing against the other side of every mirror, letting out a yell from deep in his chest of, “Loki!”

A mirror smashed as Loki cried out in agony, his body arching off the healing bed, the rough slide of the thread making his stomach turn, the way his wound was left feeling hollow instead of free.

“My queen?” came the voice of the healer.

“Keep going,” came the answer.

“Yes, my queen.”

Metal pincers touched Loki’s skin, found the end of another piece of the thread and tugged. The slide of it leaving his flesh was like a knife slicing him from the inside out. He didn’t scream, his breath completely stopping in his chest, his eyes stuck wide open, every muscle in his body taut with shock. He thought he saw blue eyes, a thoughtful gaze. He heard the sound of murmurs, private conversations in a large diner that still seemed cramped. He smelled coffee.

“ _You find the strength – stand up – you always stand up.”_

“Loki? Loki, it’s all right, you’re going to be all right,” his mother saying, floating above him and smiling, her hand at his temple. Loki stared at her mutely until his eyes drifted shut.

 

# ***

When Loki awoke again, it was without the sound of his own screams in his ears, or the flaming agony across his face. He could feel the tightness of a healing sleeve over his injured wrist, and soothing cold dampness covering half of his mouth and face. He was lying in bed without blankets, his sleep clothes just right for his too warm body. He almost felt safe enough to keep his eyes closed and fall into slumber.

However, he knew he was being watched. Loki cracked his eyes open and made out a figure standing over him, half-hidden in the shadows. For a moment, he thought he saw Thor, the eyepatch he wore a trick of the light, but then his sleep haze cleared and Odin came into view. Loki stared at him, turning over in his mind the despair of endless Lokis who had hated endless Odins.

“My son,” Odin murmured quietly, that one all-seeing eye of his both soft and warm. Loki couldn’t stop staring at his father, summoning the hate to the surface, relieved when it never came.

Loki blinked heavily at him, his body feeling lumpen. He was falling into sleep again, too tired to fight it. It was as his eyes slowly shut that it happened. Like someone had opened a door into a darkened room and flooded it with light, so the door to his memories opened. In one swift moment as he sank under, the memories came rushing up.

 

# ***

It didn’t start with the feast, but it was the place Loki’s mind went back to first in a series of images that slammed into the front of his memory. Midgard had been saved from a world-eating snake, Thor had been recovered from Svartalfeim, and Asgard was still at peace with Jotunheim. So of course Asgard had thrown a feast to...celebrate _Thor’s_ return.

“What are we celebrating again?” Loki asked with a frown as he peered at the revelry in the great hall, sitting to the side in a dark corner on a plush couch occupied by just him and Thor.

“My not being dead,” Thor said, downing a tankard of ale, and looking sour despite the celebrations.

“I see,” Loki said, taking gulp from his cup of wine. “Were you ever in danger of being dead?”

Thor frowned and looked at Loki. “You tell me.”

Loki thought about it and then smiled. “Briefly. Right about the time I rescued you.”

“Because you put me in danger?” Thor asked, narrowing his eyes at a smiling Loki, shaking his head and turning his gaze back towards the festivities. “Funny.”

“I think so,” Loki said with a grin. “Why don’t you? You’re not _still_ thinking about that casket dream are you?”

Thor frowned, almost as if he was trying to find the cracks in what he saw before him. “I lived out an entire life, Loki. An entire separate lifetime with you. My brother who...I thought I knew, but I didn’t.”

“So I was _just_ your brother?” Loki asked with a small smirk.

“Yes.” Thor gave Loki a look. “Until we fought and you died.”

Loki considered the information. “I can believe we _fought_.”

Thor turned his gaze ahead, watching Odin and Frigga, their father nodding with a smile as Frigga laughed joyfully at something. “You think it all a jest.”

“To impress upon you that none of it was real. Not for you, anyway,” Loki said.

“I saw you die, Loki,” Thor said, scowling at him. “I thought you gone forever. I mourned.”

Loki took a long look at Thor, mouth twitching into a smile. “Only you would find space in your heart to mourn for those who do not even exist on the same plane as us. I am here before you, yet, you pine for another me.”

Thor looked at Loki long and hard, keeping his thoughts to himself. Thumping his hand on the armrest of their couch, Thor got up with a heavy sigh.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Oh, what’s the matter now?”

“Nothing,” Thor said without any humour.

He walked off in the direction of a merrily drunk Volstagg as Loki scowled at the departure. Loki remained seated on the couch, watching Thor from the shadows, thinking of other places, other roads. He thought of Jörmungandr, his child by magic, dead by his hands. He thought of the visions his serpent child had shown him as it sought out a path to Asgard. They flitted through his mind with discomforting ease...

_...a woman with voluptuous curves on a sturdy frame, her figure attired in black from head to toe, an animal fur around her shoulders and golden adornments on her wrists, around her neck, a golden belt around her waist and most importantly, a horned helmet on her head. Loki's horned helmet. Her green cape billowing behind her_

_... a small boy with a dark black mop of hair, dressed in the colours black, green and golden yellow. His eyes were the same as Loki's, and as the woman's. He sat oblivious on a rock, a small Midgardian contraption in his hands, his thumbs moving swiftly across the screen. Like the woman, Loki knew this boy was another him. Another image from the vision his mother had shared with him, an image that had flitted past so quickly it hadn't even registered_

_...his own shape and form, only the skin an inky blue and the eyes berry red. This Loki wore a long white fur and had Jotun markings on his face. Was he a Jotun that never saw the splendour of Asgard? Did he grow to become a prince of his own realm? Had he fallen foul of a serpent? No answers forthcoming, Loki just stared, seeing a reality that could have so easily been._

_...the golden hall of an Asgardian palace, the lights dim, but still unable to distinguish the ethereal glow of the house of Odin. Thor seated upon the throne of the king. Or was it Thor? For his silver armour was instead bronze, and his bright red cape was pitch black. His golden mane was a deep rich brown and his dark eyelashes framed eyes that were icy and cold. The corner of his mouth was lifted in a curiously cruel manner_

_...a black-clad Steve facing another Loki, one whose mop of hair was the colour of sunlight, his armour silver and gold. It seemed to be a reality so far removed from him, he almost wished to see that cruel-mouthed Thor again. He watched the Asgardian Loki lean into the touch of the black-clad soldier Steve, his hand coming up to grip the wrist close to his jaw…_

Loki pushed the memories from his mind, blinking them away to find Thor watching him from where he stood with his warrior friends. Loki gave him a sulky look and downed a cup of wine. The drinking and feasting continued all the way into the night. Thor had not turned down a single invitation to drink and Loki spent the night having his cup refilled. The morning was almost upon them when he left the great hall, foot faltering after just one step. An arm slipped around his waist and righted him. Loki peered to the side to find Thor holding him up. Loki snorted, giving Thor a drunken smile.

They made their way to Loki’s chambers in silence, Thor dropping Loki on his bed without a word, before falling beside him. Thor lay there on his back, head tilted in Loki’s direction, slitted eyes watching him above a silent and slightly petulant mouth. Loki reached out, sliding the tips of his fingers across Thor’s lips. Thor shifted to move in the wrong direction, to get up and leave when he was supposed to stay and put his possessive hands on Loki. Loki grabbed him hard by the front of his decorative leather armour, frowning at him. Thor’s expression gave nothing away, eyes patiently trained on Loki as he waited.

“Thor,” Loki murmured, pulling at Thor before inching closer.

Thor tentatively rolled forward, reaching for Loki, eyes roaming up and down Loki’s form as Loki stared at Thor’s mouth, which seemed to still hold a little sadness for other worlds. Looking into Thor’s eyes, which were drinking him in, Loki pulled Thor closer and pressed his mouth to Thor’s, kissing him slowly and pushing him onto his back, his hand remaining spread over Thor’s chest. Loki pulled his mouth away from Thor’s to look down at his own hand, watching it as he felt the thud thud thud beneath his palm. His fingers curled, a claw against Thor’s leather armour. Uncoordinated as he was, Loki reached out to Thor’s side, fumbling to release Thor from his clothing.

Thor shoved Loki onto his back, before straddling his hips. Loki watched Thor through heavy-lidded eyes as he made quick work to shed the armour and the simple tunic beneath, revealing the flushed plains of his torso. Thor was less kind about removing Loki’s clothes, tugging them away whether it was in the correct way or not. When they were both naked, after the torturous removal of boots and breeches, Thor all but fell on Loki, his body hot, hard, and inescapable, his large hand gripping Loki’s thigh and urging Loki’s leg up over Thor’s hip. Thor kissed Loki with a harsh desperation. _Finally_ , Loki thought, things were moving in a pleasing direction, Thor not kissing him as much as trying to consume him. Only, after some ardent kisses, Thor pulled back slowly, pressing his forehead against Loki’s, leaving their open mouths panting atop each other.

Loki smoothed his hand up Thor’s side, lightly scratching his nails down Thor’s back, waiting and wondering. When Thor finally met Loki’s gaze, his eyes were impossibly bright and Loki thought he saw something look back at him from their blown blacks. Another Loki perhaps, trapped in Thor’s gaze, falling away into darkness. Madness, Loki thought. He smiled all the same, grinding his hips against Thor’s, making his interest in other matters clear, pressing hard and heatedly against Thor, wanton yet languid.

“Think not of him,” Loki whispered, closing his eyes and enjoying the friction. “Not when I am _right_ _here_.”

The mood finally shifted, Thor letting out a surprised huff of pleasure at Loki’s body moving against his. He grabbed Loki by his wrists, slamming them against the pillows and rocking his big body against Loki’s, making Loki let out an ecstatically drawn out moan and forcing his eyes open.

“Better,” Loki murmured, grinning at a much more mirthful and wanting Thor.


	26. Chapter 26

For a while, Asgard was free from revelry. Thor had happily gone to Nornheim, this time for talks rather than smashing things into working order. It seemed his casket sleep had afforded him all manner of new ideas on diplomacy, _Boring_ ideas on diplomacy, Loki thought. This left Loki under Odin and Frigga’s watchful gaze, as if he was likely to release more magical horrors any moment. So they were relieved when he buried himself in books. Of course, they may not have been so keen had they known Loki was looking for some things of a particular interest. _Mirror_ things.

The vision his mother had showed him was filled with countless glances at realities, but nothing comprehensive. What if, Loki wondered, one could look beyond the veil into the complete extent of realities, seeing their beginnings and their endings? How _much_ could one see? How much could one _hold_? How could one take from what they had seen and not fall victim to causing chaos in the process of avoiding possible eventualities? Loki had found himself an exciting question, the answers of which he was eager to find. While Thor stepped into the shoes of Odin, off on kingly quests, Loki took residence in his books. Until...

Something was making an and annoying sound. It took a moment for Loki to realise what and then find the device buried under parchment and books, pressing his thumb to activate it before he looked into the phone screen, tilting his head at Steve Steve framed by a chaotic scene. It seemed as though Steve was quite busy as he said, “Loki. How are you?”

“In good health,” Loki said, watching something explode just behind Steve's shoulder. “How are _you_ , Steven?”

“Yeah, great. You know, keeping busy. Talking of busy, you up to anything right now?” Steve asked, the sound of something smashing in the background.

Loki looked at the books strewn in his workshop, and back at the screen. “Just a little light reading. You have something better on offer?”

“Yeah, sure. Much more fun,” Steve said. “Come on over. You got enough?”

Loki looked into the screen, holding the phone firm, which was laced with Asgardian magic and contained at this moment a direct connection to Midgard. Loki felt the buzz and pull of a connection from his phone to Steve's.

“I believe so,” Loki said, watching the small screen and waiting for something to hook on to.

A breath and a blink later, Loki stepped out of the shine of a window wall in Stark Tower, only to have a fist fly towards his face. Loki swiftly moved aside, watching it shatter the window. Loki glanced from the fist to the figure, wide shouldered and heavy chested with thick thighs and long limbs, tall enough to look down even at Thor. Loki couldn’t make out whether the attacker was wearing an odd mud-metal armour, or was in fact _composed_ of mud and metal. Loki drove an icy dagger through his attacker’s chest, frowning at the brief glow that spread through him, a collision of bright ice blue and fiery red, before the figure exploded into dirt and metal.

“You made it,” Steve said, punching through one mud warrior, whilst kicking another square in the chest, making them both fly into clumps of dirt.

“How could I say no? You invite me to the nicest things, Steven,” Loki said, feeling something whiz past his ear and turning to follow the projectile. The arrow hit his almost-attacker, before emitting a sound and exploding, sending mud and metal in all directions. Loki heard the soft drop of a body and turned around, smiling. “Missed me.”

Barton gave him a bland look and said, “You wish.”

Steve was looking around the large common room for more attackers, but it seemed all that was left of them was dirt and metal debris. Loki reached out and flicked a piece of exploded warrior from Barton’s shoulder, before they both looked down at a flopping hand. Barton stopped the movement by placing his foot over it and nodding. “Still not the worst thing I’ve seen this week.”

“They came out of nowhere,” Steve said, turning back to Barton and Loki. He tapped his earpiece and said, “Tony?”

“Can’t wait to get the cleaning bill for this,” Stark said, striding down the corridor in his red metal suit, the visor of his helmet receding. He stopped at the sight of Loki. “Well well, look what fell off the end of the rainbow.”

Loki gave Stark a small nod, grinning at him. “Stark. I love what you’ve done with the place.”

Stark poked at the remains of a mud warrior. “Well, you know me. I do like to keep things fresh and new. Speaking of which…”

Loki grimaced at the rotten smell of the fallen warriors as his eyes travelled the strewn remains all over the floor, walls and furniture. It looked like a combination of mulch and mud, copper-gold skeletons and armour. No weapons, just might. As if there wasn’t enough metal left for weapons…

Loki crouched down and picked up a small piece. He felt the magic instantly, the force that had held dirt, mud, metal and something else together. Loki dropped the metal and stood up slowly, fingertips still tingling where he had touched the remains of a fallen soldier. Steve had been watching him the whole time and asked, “What is it?”

“Something disgusting?” Barton said.

“Oh that’s what you always say,” Stark said dryly. He nodded at Loki. “Spit it out. First sign of the apocalypse? Second? Please don’t say third.”

“I’m not sure,” Loki told him. “Where in the apocalypse would you place otherworldly magic used to reanimate corpse flesh bound into dirt, dust and magical metals?”

“Corpse...flesh, really? That has to be somewhere knee deep in the sequel? Right?” Stark said after a moment’s thought.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Barton said. “Sequels never live up to the original.”

“Exactly,” Stark said. “They’re _worse_.”

Loki frowned at Steve for explanation. The Avenger shook his head, his expression telling Loki that now was not the time to unpick the ramblings of mere mortals. At least that was how Loki translated it.

“Yes...well…knee deep would be accurate,” Loki said. “Forcing life into dead flesh to create soldiers is both old and dark magic.”

“Asgardian?” Stark asked.

“A bit uncouth for the likes of the Asgardians. No, this looks more like Dwarf…” Loki stopped. The Dwarves were barely permitted to leave the the confines of their own workshops, let alone wander other realms. He muttered quietly, “Dwarf magic.”

“What is it?” Steve asked in a voice that suggested he was already mentally suiting up and getting ready for a fight.

“Dwarves are creatures of magic. They make it. They desire it. They follow it,” Loki said thoughtfully. He arched a brow at Steve. “Know you of desirable and magical things on Midgard?”

Steve was frowning, and Barton on the verge of a quip when Stark muttered, “Crap. It’s a distraction.”

With that utterance, Stark’s visor closed and he was shooting out of the room and straight through a window. Steve's finger went to his earpiece as he exasperatedly asked, “You want to share with class, Tony? You said distraction. A distraction from what?”

“We need to get to SHIELD HQ,” Stark’s voice crackled back. “Get on the Quinjet and meet me there.”

“Tony,” Steve almost growled.

“Trouble in paradise?” Loki asked with a smile. Steve levelled an unamused look at Loki. Loki held up his hands in surrender, trying not to smile.

“I’ll get the jet warmed up,” Barton said. He nodded to Loki. “ _Agent_.”

Loki grinned, Steve grabbing him by his arm and pulling him along as he made his way out of the lounge and into the corridor, letting go when Loki fell into step with him. “Tell me more about these Dwarves.”

What was there to tell? The Dwarves forged some of the most awesome weapons ever wielded by the Asgardians. Their magic knew no boundaries. Dying stars, the fabric of time and space, the void beyond, all were nothing more than mere elements for their wondrous creations. Yet, the Dwarves themselves had never wielded much power. The Dwarves, whose magic made weapons for gods, were few in number, and in bondage to whomever happened to have cheated their way into the rule of Svartalfheim, always under the threat of the Dark Elves making slaves of them. Perhaps what they possessed in skill and creativity, they lacked in leadership and warfare, living and breathing to create magic.

“So what are they doing _here_?” Steve asked, pulling on the top half of his uniform in a room that held a number of his uniforms.

Loki watched as Steve dressed, with some amount of appreciation for his remarkable form. “Depends on what’s inside SHIELD that has Stark flying off so quickly. Something magical, powerful and very shiny.”

Loki picked up Steve's cowl and tossed it in the Avenger’s direction, once his uniform was firmly put together. Steve pulled it on, nodding, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Loki watched him finish buckling the cowl in place, pulling on his gloves before finally picking up his shield. “Any ideas about what it could be?”

Steve didn’t answer the question, looking a little burdened. Giving Loki a look, he said, “You coming?”

“But of course.” Loki waved a hand in front of himself, putting on the sheen of warrior garb. “However, I think I’ll make my own way there.”

Loki turned in the direction of the nearest reflection, to have his arm grabbed and be pulled back. He turned around and gave the Avenger a questioning look. Steve tapped his earpiece. “Clint? We’re going on ahead. We’ll meet you there.”

“Going on ahead?” Barton’s voice came back, quizzical. “What are you going to spin your shield and ride it there?”

“I’m going with Loki,” Steve said, delighting Loki somewhat at such a reckless adoption of magical ways. “Should get there before Tony.”

There was a pause on Barton’s end, though Loki was sure he could hear the roll of the archer’s eyes. After a moment he said, “Copy that. Try not to release any world-eating monsters.”

Loki gave Steve a put upon look. “Release one world-eating monster, and you never hear the end of it.”

There was another stern look from Steve, ruined by the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He hoisted his shield in front of him. “Let’s go.”

It took but seconds to step inside SHIELD’s base. Immediately, they knew there was a battle taking place, and a pungent smell in the air revealed the presence of more of the corpse soldiers. Steve's shield whizzed past Loki, going clean through a mud warrior, splitting him in half, before hitting a wall, then a pillar, before smoothly flying back into its wielder’s hand. Loki turned around to grin when he caught sight of Romanoff making her way towards him. Steve followed Loki’s gaze, turning around to speak, only for Romanoff bring up her pistol and discharge it several times. Steve was quick with his shield, deflecting the bullets.

“Tasha!” he shouted. “What the hell’s going on?”

She didn’t respond, intent on bringing down Steve the way she would any enemy of hers, fierce determination in her feverish eyes. More magic, Loki thought, stepping in her direction, only to be intercepted by a group of mud warriors. As Steve tussled with Romanoff, Loki threw off countless soldiers. There was gunfire around them, SHIELD operatives firing bullets at the soldiers, kept busy by blowing them apart, only for them to reintegrate and being the fight anew. Loki felt a blast of energy go through the air, not unlike the kind Stark used. However, when he turned around it was to see Steve fall to the floor in an unconscious heap, Romanoff picking up a fallen pistol and training it on him.

Loki took a step in Steve's direction, stopping at the sound of a familiar voice tell him, “I wouldn’t.”

Loki turned slowly, murmuring in quiet surprise, “Kyr.”

“ _Brok_ kyr,” the Dwarf said, in his usual quiet way. “For my enemies. Kyr for my friends.”

He looked different to the last time Loki had seen him though, hollow-eyed and pale, the blues of his eyes blazing hot. In his hand was a golden sceptre that held a shining gemstone. The sight of it made Loki freeze, something in his mind catching light and reflecting.

“ _The Tesseract has awakened. It is on a little world. A human world. They would wield its power...”_

“You’ve come for the cube,” Loki said, made breathless by the realisation that when fate had plans, if one puppet did not act out those plans, another would suffice.

“Not just the cube,” Kyr said, firing a blast from the sceptre and knocking Loki out cold.

When Loki surfaced, he was no longer at the SHIELD base. He was also in terrible danger. His wrists were manacled and chained, the chains bound to a hook that had Loki hanging with his feet just about touching the ground beneath them. There was a large unmoving rock at his back, and under his feet there were countless runes burnt into the circle that surrounded Loki. Outside of the circle was the rest of an empty round cavern, it’s curved wall covered in long mirrors that all showed him a different angle of how he hung at the centre of the cavern. Loki growled and struggled against the manacles, but they were immovable. He fisted his hands, sending out Jotun cold that could crack metal. The runes under his feet glowed and sent a hot jolt through his body. Of course - the whole place was drenched in magic.

“I would save my strength if I were you,” Kyr said, stepping into view. “Might is no match against magic.”

Loki gave Kyr a nod. “A circle within a circle. Old magic. Nice. Traditional. I like it.”

“Thank you. I suppose, if anyone could appreciate the artistry of this place, it would be you,” Kyr said, without heat or malice. “It is of course necessary, for someone like you.”

“Well, I’m fairly special,” Loki said with a laugh, before renewing his agitation against his manacles.

“Indeed. You are...dripping in dark magic,” Kyr said. He lifted a hand in Loki’s direction, tracing something in the air. “You wear it like a cloak. A cloak made of such fabric that would burst into flames at the thought of fire.”

Loki growled again, bodily trying to break away from where he hung. When he failed to liberate himself, Loki let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Do you honestly think you can keep me trapped here? You really should have paid more attention when I stole away with Thor from right under your nose. You cannot keep me imprisoned. Not for long.”

Kyr tilted his head. “What if...what if you don’t know you’re in a prison? What if you wake moments from now living a life of choices not taken, roads not travelled? What if you live and die, and live and die, over and over and over? All the time, your body in this place, withering away?”

Loki looked at the mirrors, panic ringing out in his chest. Kyr followed his gaze and smiled.

“I hear you favour mirrors, that their magic comes naturally to you,” Kyr said. “But I’m afraid these will offer you no passage. They will only allow you to see. _Force_ you to see...every _rotten_ version of you, Every sin committed by your hands. Every lie out of that mouth. You will be made to see until your eyes bleed. Until you are driven out of your mind. Do you recall when we first met, you asked me how I imprisoned the God of Thunder?”

“A drop of dark magic into berserker blood,” Loki murmured, remembering the state of Thor when he was freed from the casket.

“You are drawn to mirrors, are you not? Did you know that mirrors are drawn to those who have mastery over them? These mirrors will gladly embrace you and hold you, keeping all else out. You will hang here, in a prison of your own powers. And a drop of dark magic is all it will take to fuel the fire of this enchantment.”

Loki grinned, mania pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I am a _god_! Set my cloak alight, you _will_ get burned.”

“Or Midgard will fall to the Chitauri and Svartalfheim will be my reward, while you sleep, And rot,” Kyr said calmly. “Odinson might look for you, should he notice you are missing. Not that it matters. He is unlikely to find you. As for your Midgardian allies, one of them, she is doing my bidding as we speak. The man in the metal suit, if he’s still alive, may think twice about challenging me again. The green monster has run amuck. And the one who leads them all? Well, your friends will be too busy looking for _him_ , not the likes of you. Not when they find out he was taken as recompense for your wrongdoings.”

Loki stared at the Dwarf, cold sickly fear washing all over him. “What did you do to him?”

“Don’t worry. He’s very much alive. He’s resting in a cage of his own. Dreaming dreams of what could have been.” Kyr said. Loki thrashed against his bindings, growling. Kyr backed away, cracking a small smile, though his eyes were glassy, sparkling with silent anger. “I suspect his dreams are made of much less murkier things than yours.”

“Brokkyr!” Loki yelled.

“You’re not fond of these people, are you, sire?” Kyr said. When Loki glared heatedly at Kyr, the Dwarf’s expression changed. “You _are_ fond of them. How sad it must be for you then that all you can do while their world crumbles is hang here uselessly.”

“You think you feel slighted now?” Loki said, rage bubbling in his chest. “When I leave this place, Brokkyr, I will _give_ you something to feel slighted about.”

Kyr stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, before his lip curled up in distaste. He extracted a small metal box from his long coat. Opening it, he pulled out a sharp golden needle, from which hung a thick and dark leather thread. “I think it's time you stopped making promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- one very long chapter split into two, so I'm still on track to finish this in the next post!
> 
> \- no fic should take 26 chapters to reveal itself as a sequel proper to the fic it sequels
> 
> \- shoutout to Most_of_it who pretty much nailed it in the comments of chapter 12 - I was so pleased, and so mad, and so pleased

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration and ponderings are being saved under the [Through the Mirror](http://dvswraatins.tumblr.com/tagged/through-the-mirror) tag on tumblr. Nothing spoilery, just some brain burps.
> 
> Of course every fic that takes too long to write as a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxqibwBysw0WXNVUE_9l-KjKeQexRAWX-).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [fanart for 'Through the Mirror'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800515) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite)




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